


A Los Santos Connection

by lachupacabra



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: GTA, Grand Theft Auto Online, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachupacabra/pseuds/lachupacabra
Summary: Three girls who, in any other city, on any other terms, would never cross paths. Here, they have met in the strangest of circumstances, each with their own nightmares that they are desperately trying to evade. Their connection to one another and to the city of Los Santos begins to reveal itself over time, leaving them to pick up and piece together a heist that went horribly wrong thirteen years before ending in the deaths of two very important people. Try as they might, the past is not willing to so easily be uncovered. Criminal minds merge to create a gang that disturbs the city and rattles the streets, mob bosses work to take competition out all across the island, controlling the city while staying in the shadows, and motorcycle gangs are on the prowl, savage and thirsty for vengeance, willing to kidnap and kill to take their territory back from the mob. Patricia, Angelina, and Catarina are forced to deal with their own differences and work together or be consumed by the city.





	1. CASA DE LA MUERTE.

**ALBUQUERQUE, 1997.**  
_The locks on the front door were not strong enough to keep the three men out. Franco jumped from his chair in the small living room, his bare feet hitting the timber floor hard with panic. He dropped his book and yelled out, warning his mother and sister. The men were tall, wide, and barbaric; it was not a fair match. When Wenonah heard her boy’s cry, she ran from the kitchen towards the front end of the house. The lamp which normally sat next to Franco’s chair in the corner of the room had been knocked to the floor, the light bulb shattered. She reached for the light switch quickly and her stomach dropped when she saw what was going on. The boy was being held by two of the men while the third was forcing his knuckles, clenched in a fist tight with anger, into the thirteen-year old’s face. Blood was pouring from Franco’s nose and his eyes were beginning to swell shut._

 _Wenonah turned quickly on the spot and retreated down the hallway. She reached for the phone in the kitchen, pulling it from the receiver on the wall, and her fingers instinctively dialed for an emergency. No matter how simple, no matter how prepared you think are to call for help, when the time comes that you need to actually do it… Her hands were shaking. She put the phone to her ear, holding tightly with both hands, and the operator’s voice rang out._  
  
_‘9-1-1, what’s your emergency?’_  
  
_A sharp inhale cut its way through Wenonah’s lungs as a knife was stabbed into her lower back. The stranger’s hand, obtuse and hairy, covered in her son’s blood, ripped the receiver from the wall and the operator disappeared._  
  
      _Wenonah was carried by one of the brutes to the living room to be reunited with her son. She was dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. Franco crawled towards her but he was kicked in the gut and recoiled into a ball on the floor._  
  
_One of the men was smoking a cigarette and he took a step towards the woman on the ground, watching as her blood pooled beneath her body. The crimson flowed like a river towards Franco and he watched helplessly as it began to soak his pajamas. With a putrid grin the man put out his cigarette on Franco’s shoulder, pressing it through his tee-shirt. The fabric burnt quickly away and a hole opened up in the shirt, allowing the cigarette’s flame to make contact with Franco's soft skin. The skin of his shoulder began to melt and darken. He cried out in pain with the man hunched over his body, and Wenonah acted quickly. She lurched herself towards the man and wrestled the knife from his hand, the same knife that had been embedded into her back before only just missing her spine. She put it through the man’s temple fast, the crunch of his skull causing her to vomit on the floor. She moved quickly still and covered her son’s body with her own, holding the knife up against the two men who were staring down at the ring leader whose blood was mixing now with Wenonah’s._  
  
_‘Get the fuck out of my house,’ she said, her voice and hand shaking. ‘Get the FUCK OUT!’ Franco’s body tensed under his mother, terrified at the sound of her voice. One of the men moved to leave, not knowing what to do without being commanded, and the second man held his hand up, signaling not to leave. He waited, staring back at the eyes of whatever beast had been unleashed inside of the woman on the ground. He removed a gun from the waist of his pants. He shook his head, as if to say that he hadn’t wanted it to come to this. Wenonah cried out and both she and Franco were shot. The men lifted their ring leader from the floor and carried him out, leaving only a dark stain on timber._  
  
_Down the hall was Franco’s bedroom, the bedroom that he shared with his little sister. Beyond the door to the right was a small bed fitted with sci-fi story sheets, stars and planets scattered among spaceships. There was a nightstand to the left, a lamp, and three books stacked up on one another. On the opposite side of the room was another bed, a smaller frame hugging an equally smaller mattress. The sheets, black and white checkered, were pulled back and the pillow tossed to the side. Stickers littered the bedframe: Channel X radio, Descendents, Black Flag, Joy Division. There was a child-sized guitar leaning against the wall. This side of the room was much messier, much more unorganised than the right side. It was clear that the two children who inhabited the room were very different from one another._  
  
_The beds were both empty_.  
  
_Under her bed, Catarina was trembling. She had been asleep when the men barged in through the front door. Her eyes shot open hearing the door smash against the wall, the hinges of the door screaming. As her pupils attempted to filter in the darkness, her brother’s cry had caused her to roll out of bed and slide underneath where she could feel protected, safe. She had a blanket wrapped around herself and she covered her ears, her eyes slammed shut, as she waited for the silence to return to her home._

 _Her father came home from work just after six o’clock the next morning. His line of work required him to work mostly nights. Nightshifts meant better money and better money meant a better life for his family, as grueling as the overnights may be. He would return from work exhausted, waiting to shower and retreat to bed with his wife who would have kept his side of the bed warm for him._  
_He pulled onto his street, a motorbike between his thighs. He quietly made his way through the neighbourhood._  
  
_‘A bike was less on gas,’ he had explained to Wenonah. ‘And you’ll need the car for the kids.’ He begged and pleaded and, however reluctantly, was able to keep it._  
  
_As he neared his home, he forfeited all consideration for the neighbours and revved the torque on the bike, whipping up the road and into the yard. Gravel and bits of grass flew into the air. Tire marks scratched across the front lawn. He ran in through the front door which was open and his whole world collapsed around him._  
  
_Laying before Alejandro was his wife and thirteen-year-old son dead on the floor. His legs gave out and he crashed to the floor, kneeling in the doorway. He tried to hold his head from spinning. Frantically, his eyes searched for a third body. He couldn’t see her anywhere. His eyes, dark and manic, searched everywhere. He screamed out. At first, when he opened his mouth, nothing came out but vomit. He held his stomach as he emptied its contents onto the floor, kneeling in the murderer’s blood. He opened his mouth to call for his daughter again, this time finding his voice._  
  
_‘CATARINA!’_  
  
_No response._

_‘CATARINA, DÓNDE ESTÁS?’ Silence. ‘RESPONDÈME !’_

* * *

  
**LOS SANTOS, 2014.**  
     She jerked up in her bed, her pillow on the floor and her legs were tangled in heavy blankets. The window next to her bed, although closed, managed to filter in a cold winter breeze. She laid there, her heart stuck somewhere in her throat. She let the air sting her skin. Goosebumps spread and pricked up across her legs and brought her back to the future. Moving her far, far away from 1997.

The nightmares were growing more persistent than usual which was not a good thing. Her doctors in the past scolded her incessantly.  
  
     ‘If the nightmares keep up, you need to speak to someone.’  
  
     ‘Nightmares are, you know… being chased by someone and you’re unable to run. Having to swim through a lake of maggots or something. Reliving traumatic events every night is not okay. Are you understanding me on this? It’s very important that you contact me, Catarina, if your nights continue on like this.’  
  
     She never told anyone, of course, which meant that there was not much that she could do but deal with the sweating in the middle of the night, the rushing to the bathroom to vomit. She closed her eyes again, resting but resisting sleep.  
  
     Behind her eyelids was a blurred, young Catarina, poking her head out of her bedroom door and seeing her mother’s legs on the ground, sprawled out. There was darkness all over the floor. It made her stomach hurt to think about it. She couldn’t see her brother. Is he okay?  
  
     She can still feel how tightly her father held her all those years ago; it was in a way that he had never done before which was more frightening than anything else. He had carried her away into the kitchen, sitting her in a chair as he tucked her hair behind her ears, out of her face. The phone was hanging silently from the wall, wires loose.  
  
     She replayed conversation after conversation in her head that her father had to have with people. It was mainly the police and detectives. She thought back, reliving the fear of not knowing where her mother and brother went, who took them away, or when (if) she’d ever see them again. Images and smells of a dirty, hot and humid hotel room flashed across her mind. The hotel that her and her father had to stay in for weeks after The Incident - that’s what the police kept referring to as her mother and brother being murdered. It had seemed like years to her. She hated it so much; the smell of the sheets and pillows made her cry every night. There was no real food to be cooked and her father was not much of a cook anyway. And there had been, on more than one occasion, a spider in the shower.  
  
     School was not particularly easy for her before The Incident. She didn’t have many friends but it was okay, she kept to herself and nobody really bothered her too much. After The Incident, however, things became a lot more difficult. She couldn’t remember much about her teachers or her homework. All that came to mind was getting in trouble for fighting in the school yard.  
  
_‘My mom says your daddy went “LOCO” and-’ his thumb slid across his throat. ‘- killed your mom and your brother.’_  
  
_‘Yeah, my parents said that, too. They said your dad was a “ticking time bomb”.’_  
  
_‘My brother told me your brother’s a fag so your dad put him at the bottom of the Alamo Sea.’_  
  
    _It was clear that there had been a lot of influence behind the words, that the boys had not come up with these vicious thoughts on their own – not entirely. However, they were young, smug, and arrogant boys pleased to see that they could tease the small girl so easily. They did not seem to care, or perhaps didn’t realize, that their words could inflict so much damage on one person. Catarina’s rage flooded in before any reasoning could begin. Her fist had dislocated one boy’s jaw and had broken the other boy’s nose. She had felt the cartilage crack under the weight of her hand._  
_She turned her back on the kids and walked away. Blood dripped from her knuckles; there was a bit on the front of her shirt as well. Her hand had at that point started to feel sore now that the adrenalin was gone. The school’s staff had scratched their heads, not knowing what to do. The solution was giving the girl a place to go when she didn’t want to sit at lunch with others or go out to the schoolyard for recess._  
  
_The school explained to Alejandro that they had never been expected to handle a student who had been through such a tragic situation. They dealt with fights breaking out among students but the fighting and bullying and fighting some more that was encompassing Catarina was a cause for concern. Do they reprimand her for fighting? The guidance counselor was not qualified to help treat her with the appropriate level of therapy. They were at a loss._  
  
_The solution that they come up with was less than adequate but Alejandro was pleased with the efforts and their attempt at understanding the girl’s pain. They had created somewhat of a safe place, somewhere that Catarina could go if she felt that she needed time alone, to avoid lunch, recess, or simply the general population of the school. If Catarina were ever to feel uncomfortable, she would go to the office and the secretary, Gigi, would escort her to the room. Before being used as a refuge, the room was designed for kids who were causing problems and had found themselves in trouble: a pre-detention cell, perhaps. It was known as The Green Room, named after the sickening, almost fluorescent green paint that covered all four walls. It was very confined, perhaps only slightly bigger than a closet in a bedroom. The walls were solid brick. It held one desk in the centre of the room which was littered with obscene drawings and writing._  
  
_Nobody spoke to her after that last school yard fight. They spoke of her, however; whispers in the hallway, writing scrawled across the tops of desks._  
_She remembered the day her father said that they were moving. It was both relieving and devastating. She wanted so badly to leave the people that taunted her day in and day out at school, but she knew that leaving this house meant leaving the last part of her mother and brother she will ever have. She would not be able to share a bedroom with her brother in their new house. She would not be able to sit across the kitchen table with her mother working on the rainforest-themed puzzle that Catarina had gotten for her birthday. Nothing would ever be the same. As much as it pained her, she knew it was necessary. Especially for her father._  
  
_Alejandro was a mess to say the very least when it first had happened. He escaped sleep for nearly a week. Catarina was sure she had heard him talking to someone on more than one occasion, but it was only ever the two of them. Between her nightmares and her father beginning to lose his mind, moving house would be the only viable option if they were going to survive this tragedy._  
_The two had packed what little they had left. Alejandro had to part with most of Wenonah’s things; he feared that holding onto them would kill him - would suck out the very last bit of life left in him that he managed to hold onto. Many of Franco’s clothes were kept for Catarina. Alejandro told her calmly that she would fit into them when as she grew older. His books were saved in boxes because, while it would break Alejandro to keep them, he would rather die than dispose of his son’s most beloved and cherished possessions._  
  
_With their house cleared out, they left Albuquerque and headed to Los Santos, California. Alejandro placed Cat on the back of his motorcycle, a chrome dummy bar behind her keeping her secure on the seat. They took off down the street, following behind a small moving van. It freaked Catarina out thinking that their entire life had been put into the back of one truck. A month ago she would have believed to have everything in the world. Now, looking at just how insignificant the size of the U-Haul was, she couldn’t help but feel lost. Alejandro kept his eyes forward, his mind focusing only on how he was going to keep his daughter safe in a world that had betrayed them so savagely. Catarina looked back at the house to steal one last look at her childhood before hiding her face in the back of her father’s jacket._  
_Catarina hated Los Santos at first. She was too shy to make new friends at school and all of the teacher’s pronounced her name in a way that she didn’t like. The best thing about moving, Catarina believed, was that nobody questioned her about her family and what they like to do together for fun; what her father does for work; what happened to her mother and father on that night. She didn’t have to tell anyone about anything. No one cared. No one came around to ‘Give Their Condolences’ because nobody knew about the accident and she liked that very much._  
  
_Her father’s new job had started as soon as they had moved into their new house. This meant he was gone quite a bit and he couldn’t just leave Catarina alone. At the start of their life in Los Santos, she would go with him to the building where he had his ‘work meetings’ in a dry, hot area above the city known as Rancho. She stayed with the wife of one of Alejandro’s workmates. The two had no kids of their own and she was more than happy to help look after Cat while the men were working._  
  
_He looked to a neighbourhood around Mirror Park which, at that time in 1998, was not very exciting. There had been new estates scattered around the lake and it suited all of Alejandro’s expectations being the mundane, white American neighbourhood he had been looking for. Alejandro put all of his hard earned cash into a house for him and his daughter._  
  
_A quaint house on West Mirror Drive in East Vinewood was their new home. The backyard (if you could call it that) was a perfect size for Catarina to run around and play, Alejandro told himself, and it looked out onto the city and Canal. Perhaps she would not do much running around just yet, but he hoped that sooner rather than later she would be able to start living the life of a normal child. Maybe she would even like to have a swing set or a trampoline._  
  
_Catarina felt like she was royalty. They had moved into what was one of the smaller houses in the estate, away from the lake and the main area of Mirror Park but she didn’t mind that. When Catarina first saw her new backyard, she was ready to jump for joy seeing that there was an in ground pool and spa. As she ran close to get a better look, she realized that the pool was empty. Her shoulders sagged, despair heavy in her chest. Alejandro scooped her up in one arm and pulled her inside to give a proper tour of her new house. Sure, there was no pool, but her father assured that she would love it here in time. She hugged him and tried to trust him. She did love the Canal behind the house; it looked perfect for adventures. Having a bedroom to herself would be hard, at first, but she tried to ignore the bad feelings around it._  
  
_It was not long after they had moved in that she realised that just because her house was nice, it didn’t mean her life was going to be like the other kid’s lives around her._  
  
_The neighbourhood was good. It was quiet, boring, even plain. There were some neighbours but they kept to themselves. It seemed that in Los Santos everyone was too consumed in their own life to worry about Alejandro and Catarina Flores. Now, of course, they went by de Comanche. It was confusing for Cat but she told her father that she understood._  
  
_‘It is for safety,’ he would tell her. ‘Catarina de Comanche. Do you like that?’_  
  
_She didn’t like it but she lied._  
  
_‘Si, papa. Pero… porque?’_  
  
_‘Seguridad, mi niña. Ahora, no mas preguntas.’ He kissed her head and she never asked again._  
  
_Every day she would catch the bus to school with the other children and every day she was secluded from their bus stop conversations. They would talk about cartoons, school, and sports. Every day she was left to sit alone on the bus ride to and from school and every day she would walk home alone, trailing behind the other kids and catching bits and pieces of their conversations. Every day this was the way it happened for months until Walter Baker moved in up the street._  
  
_Catarina moved bits of rock under her shoes as she waited for the bus to pick her and the other kids up. Her hair was braided thick and it came down to the middle of her back. She had black denim shorts on that exposed roughed up and scraped knees. The girl, even at seven years old, loved adventure. With every adventure, she came home with a new story and fresh cut on her knees._  
  
_‘I like your backpack.’_  
  
_She jumped, taken aback at the boy’s voice behind her. She stared at him for a moment, eyebrow raised, wary of his intentions. He smiled stupidly at her._  
  
_‘Thanks.’ She offered what smile she could muster, still confused at what was going on. She did not want to have to punch this boy in the face but she was ready to, fist tight at her side._  
_Her backpack had the ever famous Disney character Mulan on it, holding a sword and preparing to battle for her family’s dynasty, for China, and for her father’s respect. Mulan was Catarina’s favourite for reasons that perhaps she was too young to recognise just yet._  
  
_‘Mulan is my favourite movie,’ the boy continued. ‘She is so cool!’ He held a pretend sword in his hands and acted as if he were fighting the Huns off himself, making weird special effects noises with his mouth. When he had deemed himself to be triumphant in his battles, he let his shoulders fall, relaxed, and he laughed a little. His dumb smile returned to his face and his hands gripped the straps of his bag. ‘I’m Walter. Or Walt.’ He held out a small but certain hand of friendship towards her. ‘I just moved in this weekend.’_  
  
_She relaxed her fist but kept it loose at her side._  
  
_‘I’m Catarina,’ she said, mimicking his introduction. ‘Or Cat.’ Her hand met his and felt that a smile was creeping onto her face as well._

* * *

      She opened her eyes to her stained bedroom ceiling. Bits of plaster were missing and cracks splintered out in every direction. Her heart was heavy this morning, heavier than usual. She eyed the medication on her nightstand and couldn’t remember having taken anything. She had been put on three medications when she was twelve years old: Zombix, Zoom Zoom, and Deludamol. The most important was the Zombix, an intensive pain killer and antidepressant which helped to keep her head on straight. Deludamol is pain killer in the form of narcotic and will knock a person out cold for the night; ‘for a night you’ll never remember’ as they advertise on the radio. She’s meant to be take the Deludamol only at night to help her sleep. It made sense, now, why her night had been filled with agonizing nightmares. Zoom Zoom - an alertness drug that she’s meant to take every morning following her Deludamol. This morning she wouldn’t be needing the extra help with being alert so she popped the lid off of the Zombix and dry-swallowed the pill.  
  
     It was cold and she was miserable but still she forced herself from her bed. She moved across her apartment like a sloth, wearing some crewneck sweater that she had found in Binco. Across the front of the sweater was a large school crest representing a university that she had never gone to. On her legs were a pair of old, navy blue sweatpants to keep her legs warm. Her feet were wrapped in fluffy socks that were doing their best to keep her body warmth from escaping through her feet. Inside the apartment was freezing, winter air whirling in from cracks in old windowpanes to attack any exposed skin.  
  
     She could feel how cold the tiles in the kitchen were even through her thick, protective socks. The window above the sink was not letting in much sunlight but there was bit of warmth coming through and marking a sunny rectangle on the floor. She tried to stand inside of it, holding herself up on the tips of her toes to be sure that she stayed within the lines of the space. Her hands froze as she tried making herself hot chocolate. She reached for a spoon in the drawer and there was a large cockroach sitting in with all of her cutlery. As if on queue, a loud knock battered against her door.  
  
     She left the drawer to the cutlery open and moved to answer the call. A man stood on the other side of the doorway, someone that she had never seen before with a sad attempt at a moustache growing under his nose and a winter hat lazily sitting on the back of his head. His name tag read BUGSTARS - Oscar.  
  
     ‘Hello ma’am, good morning.’  
  
     Catarina did not answer, but instead remained detached, staring at him. She waited for him to continue.  
  
     He nervously handed over the clipboard that was in his shaking hands, trying to explain to her the meaning of his presence. ‘We are doing a fumigation on the premises, miss, and we just need you to sign and say we have said this to you and that you understand.’  
  
     Catarina let out a sigh, taking the clipboard from him and allowing her eyes to read over it. She was not a fast reader and gave up about half-way through the notice. She took the pen from Oscar’s chest pocket and signed on the line at the bottom of the page.  
  
     ‘Thank you so much, miss,’ he continued. Catarina nodded, starting to close the door.  
  
     ‘Um, wait, please.’  
  
     She met his eyes with impatience, wanting to return to her hot chocolate before the cockroach was able to get the better of it.  
  
     ‘We need you to be evacuating for a few days,’ he said, worried. He winced as he explained the importance of evacuating, that if she stays she will surely be severely or fatally injured.  
  
     ‘Cuando? When?’ She chewed at the inside of her cheek, contemplating her impending shitty situation. Her shituation.  
  
     ‘Mañana. Evacuated by tomorrow morning, miss,’ he explained. ‘We start tomorrow afternoon.’  
  
_Fuck._  
  
     ‘Okay.’ She nodded him off and closed the door.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
     She retreated back into her bedroom, searching on the floor for a bright pink piece of paper. She found it, stained and torn but legible, and moved to the kitchen to use the house phone. She dialed the number that was scrawled across the neon flyer. Through the phone, somewhere on the other end was a static. Ringing, ringing, ringing. A woman’s voice cut in.  
  
     ‘Vanilla Unicorn, baby. What’s good?’  
  
     ‘Hey Juliet, it’s Cat. Mind if I crash tonight?’  
  
     A celebratory shout came through on the other line.  
  
     ‘GIRL, of course! When you gettin’ here?’  
  
     ‘Luego, I have to get my shit together. I’ll see you in a bit.’  
  
     She lifted the phone away from her ear, her thumb hovering over the disconnect button. A scream, piercing and wild, came through the receiver. Juliet sharing the news with the others. She hung up, then, and a small smile crept up on her face. She hadn't seen the women at Vanilla Unicorn in what had seemed like months.


	2. IN COLD BLOOD.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Patricia's past reveals a heated discussion that brought her fairytale to an end. Among the chaos, she discovered a forgotten friendship.

**LOS SANTOS, 2001.**

_If the Rockford Hills sign in front of the house indicated anything, it was that the people in this neighbourhood had money. Sitting on the corner of Portola Drive and Boulevard Del Perro was a house that could have come directly out of a Shakespearian play. The heavy, wrought-iron gates were intricate and made the house appear to be even more sophisticated. The dark bricks of the foundation worked their way to the roof. The ivy, verdant and twisting, deviously made its way up the walls. The house was surrounded by a great rock wall to keep chaos from leaking into the yard from the Los Santos streets. It was a tranquil and beautiful home. All of its elaborate details worked hand in hand to make the house look even more like it was that of a princess in some fairy-tale. While Patricia was the live-in princess, her fairy-tale lifestyle had just about run its course._

_The driver pulled up outside the gates of the estate. He did not have time to turn into the driveway before Patricia swung her door open and took off towards the house. She had been crying, her make-up running in streams down her face. She nearly took the front door off of its hinges. A maniacal look shot across her eyes and searched for her mother through the tears._

_‘Mother!’ Nobody answered. Her feet moved up the grand staircase, stomping down angry on hardwood steps. ‘Mother!’ She thrust herself down the hall towards her father’s home office._

_His office was always off limits. When she was younger, she knew never to ever dare cross into her father’s office without him and that if she did, she would be disobeying his rules. She knew from her mother’s experiences not to disobey Daddy’s rules because it came with a heavy handed punishment._

_She turned the doorknob in her hand and it jammed. Locked. She tried again with force, growing angrier as she played through her mind all of the secrets that could potentially be tucked away safely behind the door. It refused to open. She let a growl come up from her throat and she tried crashing her body against the door to open it. Nothing. She turned away from the office in a frenzy. As she moved down the hall, closing in on her mother’s bedroom, she wiped her face, trying to clean her cheeks of some of the makeup. She cleared her throat and opened the door._

_Vivienne was asleep in her bed. More often than not the woman needed the help of Deludamol, a powerful painkiller, to fall asleep; her mind was always running and it was the only thing that could help her to relax. Patricia moved to her mother’s bed and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. The Deludamol was powerful but the fear that was so deeply embedded in Vivienne heard her daughter’s crying, worried voice. She pulled herself from the grip of the drug and put her hands on her daughter’s face. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Viv tried to pull her daughter in for a hug, to assure her that she would fix whatever was wrong, but Patricia resisted._

_‘What the hell is Daddy doing in East Los Santos!?’_

_Viv had to think quickly, had to find a way to protect her daughter from knowing the truth. Patricia must have seen the intent behind her mother’s eyes and she screamed._

_‘Don’t you dare lie to me, Mother. Why is Daddy in East Los Santos when he is meant to be in San Fierro for business?’_

_‘Patricia, darling, I don’t know if I am aware of what you’re talking about. Look, let’s have a cup of-’_

_‘I saw him fucking SHOOT SOMEONE.’_

_All colour flushed from Vivienne’s face. She swallowed hard as she tried to clutch her daughter’s hand but Patricia was not having it. Patricia stood up, moving backwards from the bed and heading to her father’s dresser. She began opening the drawers, one by one, and emptying the contents onto the floor. Mostly, each drawer was filled with business shirts and boring socks and undershirts. On top of his dresser were flashes of gold: rings, chain necklaces, watches, cuff links. She shoved them off of the top of the dresser and Vivienne winced as they fell to the floor._

_‘Patricia, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing!’_

_Patricia ignored her mother’s outburst and moved to the closet. She began to pull out her father’s suits, one by one, and drop them to the floor still on the hanger. She reached her hand towards the top of the closet, sliding around the shelf and feeling blindly for something – anything – that would help her find an answer. Her eyes widened and Vivienne watched on in horror as her daughter pulled down a massive black hardcover case. It was nearly as tall as Patricia was, coming up to just under her boobs._

_Patricia threw the case on the bed. Vivienne pulled her knees to her chest to make sure that the case did not crush her feet. As Patricia began to unbuckle the case, she continued to yell._

_‘I was coming home from Mirror Park – I saw Daddy and thought he was home from his trip early, you know. And my recital is in a few days so I was so fucking excited to see him.’_

_‘Patricia, please watch your mouth.’_

_Patricia continued to ignore her. ‘I started walking towards him. I wanted to surprise him before he could surprise me. Then, before I knew it, I was watching him put a bullet in someone’s head! Have you ever seen someone get shot in the head, Mother?’ Patricia’s voice was calmer but riddled with anger still. ‘Have you ever seen the way someone’s body hits the ground when they’ve just been fucking murdered on the street?’_

_Viv had seen someone receive a bullet to their head - of course she had. She had seen more than one person shot down in the street. She knew the ugliness of a person’s lifeless body falling to concrete and the way the blood pooled out beneath them. Viv looked to Patricia, her heart breaking. Any innocence that her girl had managed to preserve in this life that they had given her was sure to be eroded now. She stayed silent._

_The buckles of the case clicked open and Patricia paused, her chest heaving in and out. She looked to her mother who returned the stare with a look of pity. Hastily, Patricia diverted her attention back to the case and ignored her mother’s pathetic gaze. She lifted the top of the case and gasped._

_Patricia reached down to touch the sniper rifle that was in the case. When her fingertips touched the metal, she recoiled and pulled her hand away. The metal was cold, deathly cold, and she played over and over again the man’s head shattering and blood pouring out onto the street. Before she saw this gun, she had left a shred of doubt. She had spared just an ounce of humanity for her father. She had told herself that the time of day may have been against her, that the sun setting across the park had set up this horrible illusion and played a trick on her eyes. She had not heard a gunshot, after all. Unfortunately, the sniper rifle sitting in front of her stripped away any hope that she had tried to preserve for her father._

_‘Open the office.’ She demanded, glaring at her mother. ‘Open it. Now.’_

_‘Patricia, I can’t. I don’t have the key. You know we’re not allowed to-’_

_‘OPEN THE FUCKING OFFICE!’_

_‘Patricia, I cannot do that!’_

_‘THEN TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!’_

_Vivienne attempted to calm her daughter down which only made Patricia more furious._

_‘If you don’t give me what I want, I won’t be staying here any longer.’ She waited for Vivienne to say something, to make any motion that she was going to unlock the office door. When she didn't move, Patricia stormed off, running to her bedroom and slamming the door. It echoed through the vast and empty home._

_Vivienne did the same and retreated to her own bedroom. She held her phone in her hands tightly, trying to figure out how to speak about what had just happened. As she went through her most recent calls, she found who she had been searching for at the top of the list. Her most recent contact. Her husband._

_In a way similar to how Patricia emptied her father’s dresser – unloading it all on the floor - she did the same for her own belongings. She collected clothes: shirts, skirts, leather pants, two pairs of heels – one red-soled pair and a pair of black high-heeled boots. Her eyes moved frantically across her room, searching for anything that would be useful to her. She was leaving until her parents could be honest with her. She didn’t know where she’d stay, but she wasn’t staying here._

_She looked in her purse. There were three credit cards in there all marked with her father’s name. She threw them in the trash can by her dresser and continued moving around and packing._

_She believed that she could handle her own in Los Santos; she would refuse everything all together, which of course included living off of her father’s money. They would be begging her to come back in no time, she had convinced herself. As if they could live without her. What purpose did they have in their lives without their beautiful, baby girl?_

_Vivienne’s voice came low, a quiet vibrating through the walls from the room next door to Patricia’s. She had called Ronaldo, told him everything. He advised her to relax, that it will be fine, that he’ll be there soon. He promised Vivienne he would make this right again. Viv only could accept his promise and hope that he was correct._

_Patricia heard her mother talking to someone in the other room. She assumed it was her father and she picked up her pace. She could imagine how the conversation was going. Her mother would probably be asking if he really was in Los Santos, if Patricia had seen him in Mirror Park. Her father, of course, would deny it; he’d probably tell her that this was just one of Patricia’s many ways of getting everyone’s attention. She scoffed. Either her mother knew what was going on and was too spineless to say something or she was an absolute idiot and believed all of her father’s lies. Of course, there was a third option which ignited nauseous waves in Patricia’s stomach. Perhaps Vivienne knew what Ronaldo did for work. Perhaps she knew all of the secrets kept behind the office door. Perhaps everyone knew except for Patricia._

_She shook the thoughts from her head; they were distracting her from what mattered most right now. She had nearly finished packing. Most of her make-up, her hair products, and her hairbrush were resting on her vanity and she placed her arm down and swept them off into her bag. It didn’t matter how messily she was packed; the important thing was that she had what she needed._

_Viv had come to Patricia’s door, clutching her silk robe shut at her chest. She struggled to find words. She wanted to explain everything, let her daughter know exactly what was going on, but she couldn’t. She took a step towards Patricia, opening her arms for the girl, trying to console her._

_‘Sweetheart -’_

_‘Mother, if you are not opening your mouth to explain what the fuck is going on in this house, then I don’t want to hear your- ’_

_**SMACK.** _

_Patricia held her cheek, reddening as the seconds ticked by; embarrassment, pain, and anger were ripe within her. She had never been slapped by her mother, never been treated with such disdain. She pulled herself away from Vivienne, stepping back in horror as she tried to understand what had truly just happened. She told herself that to some extent she deserved it; she would never in a million years have believed herself capable of speaking so rudely to the woman who raised her. And yet, part of her combusted and she felt blinded by rage. She wanted to strike back. She actually wanted to hit her mother. She could feel her hand tensing, her nerves twitching. The fury radiated outwards from the pit of her stomach through her limbs to her finger tips, clenched in tight fists. She forced herself to regain focus._

_Patricia zipped her suitcase and turned to face her mother. Neither of them said a word for what felt like ages. The silence was broken by the front door opening._

_It must have been an hour since Patricia had seen her father near Mirror Park. She eyed her mother and decided then that if the woman was going to ever lay a hand on her again, she would regret it. Vivienne was staring back at her daughter, not speaking a word, and a shiver ran up her spine. She recognised a flicker that darted across the precious blue of her daughter’s eyes; it was fleeting, but she had seen it too many times before in her husband’s eyes to simply shrug it off and let it go. Before Viv could grab Patricia’s hand, her daughter had bolted, leaving her mother in the bedroom to call out after her. Patricia ran down the stairs, suitcase in tow. Ronaldo was standing at the door, loosening the tie on his neck. He wore the same, charming smile that he always had when talking with his daughter; his baby girl. Even still with knowing what he knew, he looked at her and expected to see his content, bubbly and enthusiastic daughter. What he saw, however, was far from that. She jumped on him, punching him in the chest and screaming._

_‘TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON. AND DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME.’_

_Ronaldo gripped Patricia’s biceps, staring at her with a worried look hidden away under his brow. Vivienne had made herself present at the top of the stairs. She did what she could to refrain from crying; her cheeks were wet and she wiped them as Ronaldo looked up to her. For a brief moment, the two were caught up in a shared look of affliction. Neither of them had anticipated this scenario; it was only ever prepping to answer probing, curious questions from their only daughter. Now, Patricia had seen her father’s work first hand. How would they make it out of this? Ronaldo looked from Viv back to his daughter._

_‘Princess, let’s calm down, okay? Now, why would I lie to you?’ He reassuringly squeezed her arms in efforts to console her in the way he always had. It didn't work. In fact, she seemed to grow even more livid. She writhed in his grip, pulling away and trying to move away from him. She freed her arms, backed up, and stared as Ronaldo’s hands stayed put mid-air. His hands unconsciously grasped for the relationship of his daughter as he watched it fall apart before him._

_‘Why were you in Mirror Park? You were supposed to be away on business.’_

_Ronaldo may have been nervous but he certainly did not expose any of his vulnerability. His mind raced, searching for anything that he could say to explain his actions. He would not be able to convince her that he had not shot someone; no, she saw what she saw. He asked himself over and over again the same question: Why was I in Mirror Park? Why was I in Mirror Park?_

_Patricia must have been able to read him, watching with uncertain eyes. ‘Daddy, please don’t lie to me.’ She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t screamed or cursed. She had found a calm, placid way of directing herself. Both Ronaldo and Vivienne were cautioned to listen more intently with the change of speech. Vivienne watched on in fear as the erratic, threatening screams took a more sinister turn for the worst._

_‘I was working.’ Ronaldo’s mouth seemed dry and cracked. It was odd: the interrogation with his daughter, out of everything he had experienced in his line of work, was the most terrifying thing he had encountered. ‘Can I have a glass of water, Viv?’ On command, Vivienne floated down the stairs, sure to keep distance between herself and the daddy-daughter argument. She disappeared into the kitchen. Patricia moved onto her next question._

_‘Who was the man in Mirror Park? The man you shot?’_

_Although he had been prepped for this conversation, it seemed different, now, having heard his daughter say it to his face. It sounded vile. He let out a tired and beaten sigh._

_‘I don't know, P.’_

_‘What did I just say about lying?’ She took a step towards him, her fists tight by her sides. She spoke through gritted teeth. Her posture was sharp, shoulders upright. Her chest heaved outwards in one big breath, then as she exhaled she allowed the calm, cool, and collected state envelope her once more._

_‘Patricia, princess, you need to trust me. I don’t know who he was. I was told where he was going to be. I was told some bad things he had done. I-I swear. I was assigned him; he was a mark to take out - that’s it. Nothing more. I swear.’_

_‘What? Oh, “that’s it”? Is that supposed to comfort me?’_

_‘No, no, I suppose it’s not. But he was a bad man, Patricia. He has done... bad things.’ He was shaking his head, truly believing he had done something virtuous and right by removing the man from the city. ‘If you knew, I think you would have done the same.’_

_‘Don’t you dare say that to me. So, what? Now that I know that you’ve done something terrible, does that mean I’m some big hero if I go and kill you? What if someone were to come after you? Don’t you think Mother and I would be sad? Did this man have a family? Do you even know anything about him other than what he did that was so bad?’_

_Ronaldo continued to shake his head. He was ashamed that he could not provide his daughter with the correct information, but he knew it was for the best; for her safety. ‘If that man had a family, he didn’t give a shit about them.’_

_‘How would you know? And, Daddy, who are you to talk? You missed, like… three of my classical recitals. Did you know that?’ His stomach lurched. Yes, he had known. ‘I sat there looking for you in the crowd - I saw everyone else but you, the one person I wanted to be there. And you missed Mother’s birthday, too. Does that give someone enough motive to “take you out”?’ She used her forefingers to make mocking quotations around his own words as she spit them back into his face. ‘You left your wife alone crying on her birthday. Feeling unloved. Do you get a bullet or dumped into the Alamo Sea?’ Her arms were crossed over her chest now as she stared up at him. She felt powerful and while she was not thrilled about the specifics of it all, she liked the feeling that was bubbling in her chest._

_Vivienne returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, holding it with two shaking hands. Ronaldo reached for the glass and clutched it like a prized possession. He drank it in one slow swig, using the time to process how he could repair the damage that had unleashed itself upon his family._

_‘Patricia, let me explain. We can go up to my office, sit down, and I’ll talk with you. The truth. It’s not what you think.’_

_‘It’s not what I think? Okay, um… I saw you shoot a man. In cold blood. In broad daylight. And I’m finding out that my father, who I have looked up to for all of these years, is a fucking glorified serial killer. My entire life has been a LIE. So please, Daddy, tell me how this just couldn’t possibly be what I think it is.’_

_Ronaldo didn’t speak. He listened to his daughter’s words, as painful as it was to hear. He glanced at Viv who was crying harder, now; silent sobs and a flood of tears at the bottom of the staircase._

_‘You’re right.’_

_‘Excuse me?’ She was not expecting it to go like this._

_‘You’re right. I have worked as a horrible man doing horrible things. I have been someone who has allowed their work to consume so much of their life that they forgot what truly matters.’ He reached out again for Patricia who stood still, arms over her chest, eyebrow raised. ‘But Princess, I do it all so that you and your mother can have a good life. I do it so that this city will be a good place for you to grow up, so you will have a safe place to have babies of your own. I do everything so that you -’_

_‘Can witness my father murder a defenceless man and not even have a reason to explain why?’ Her words were purposefully sharp, cutting deep and leaving scars on Ronaldo that he may see fade over time but will never go away._

_He had forfeited his last shred of patience. ‘Patricia, now you’re being unreasonable and unfair. You are so mad at me for the life that I have given you - your beautiful bedroom, this house, your expensive clothing that you love so much - your parties, your vacations - everything. Any luxury that you have had. Your credit cards. Do you know who pays for those credit cards? I do. And I do it by going out every day and working my ASS off so that MY WIFE and mY DAUGHTER will have a GODDAMN GOOD LIFE in this fucking shithole of a city. I have yet to hear ANY complaints about your lifestyle being TOO LAVISH. So please, if you’re ready to give up all of this-’ His arms gestured to the house surrounding them: the high ceilings, the crystal chandelier over the beautiful and grand dining table. He stepped fast towards the stairs and grabbed the house phone, nearly pulling the receiver off of the table. His swift movement had caused Vivienne to flinch away from his hand. He ignored her and continued. ‘Well, just say the word, Patricia. I’ll call up Martin right now and tell him we’re done.’_

_‘Fuck you. Keep your dirty money.’ Patricia pushed by him, her shoulder digging into his arm, and walked out the front door with her suitcase. Ronaldo was in shock; his daughter had turned his money away, had cursed directly to him, and left the house that he worked up to buy just for her. A castle for his princess. Now, none of that mattered. His daughter had just called his bluff and left and he had no idea how to get her to come back. Everything around him was quiet, he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His vision was starting to go in and out of focus. Then, a scream cut into him. Vivienne was on her knees, reaching out and begging Patricia not to leave. It was too late. She was gone. The darkness of the city had devoured her and neither Vivienne nor Ronaldo knew when they would see their daughter again._

 

_Patricia ran. And ran. And ran until she felt as though her lungs were going to collapse. She tucked herself away between two houses; away from cars, away from the curious public, away from her past._

_Her parents would put together some search party, that much she could assume. There would be drivers roaming the streets in unmarked cars looking for her. She could not entertain the idea of speaking with her parents tonight - or perhaps even the next few nights to come. She needed time. So, let them worry._

_She had nowhere to go and no idea how she was going to keep herself fed or sheltered. The money that she had just left behind was all that she ever knew, both in Los Santos and back in Jersey City. Her breathing started to become more and more irregular as she tried to think about everything that had just happened. Her entire life just came crashing down around her and now she was stuck in someone’s yard with no one to contact and no money to get a cab. She wasn’t entirely sure she even knew how to ‘get a cab’. She saw in movies all the time: people shooting their arms up or waving and the cab just pulled right up. But those areas were always crawling with yellow cars, always bustling and moving, filled with people needing to always go somewhere. She was alone. There were no cabs. There was an occasional car moving its way up the winding roads but she feared it may be one of her father’s drivers and tucked herself further away into the yard where she had taken refuge._

_It hit her, then, that this was bigger than her father. “I’ll call up Martin right now and tell him we’re done.” She replayed her father’s words again and again in her head. Martin Madrazo, a man who she had known for the better half of her life, someone who she had considered family, was also a murderer. A murderer and, from the sounds of it, the one calling the shots that her father was meant to make. She couldn’t go to him for help. She couldn’t go to him for anything. He would rat her out._

_She began to cry which quickly turned to sobbing. She tried to keep herself quiet, keep herself calm, knowing that if she were to unravel now then she would only be digging herself deeper into a ditch. She wiped her face, pushing tears away, but her efforts were useless. Cries roared up from her chest. She wanted to scream. This could not possibly be happening. Her knees gave out and she slid down against the rock wall until she felt the ground beneath her. Her legs were pulled tight to her chest, her chest tightening more and more. Her sobs turned to moans of distress and she was becoming uncontrollably loud. She buried her face in her hands, soaking her palms with tears and smudged make-up._

_She looked at the cell phone that her father had given her. It was simple, a hand-held brick with a stubby, black antenna. The buttons were fat and bubbled up through the shell of a case that clipped on, fitting over the screen and numbers._

_After this call, she would be done. She was going to throw it off of the pier. But for now… She needed one last lifeline._

_The phone lit up her face in the dark and she moved through her contacts. It didn’t look good. As she passed each name, highlighted in block letters, she filled more and more with despair. She knew she couldn’t trust any of them; they would all judge her and have more than likely been waiting for something to go wrong for Perfect Little Patricia. This was their time, this was their time to make Patricia rue the day that she was born into her perfect life. She continued searching._

_She stopped halfway through her contacts; her breath hitched and her head flooded with memories. Felicia Forcucci was a year older than her, almost to the day, but had been held back a grade. Patricia had spent most of her time with Felicia in and outside of school, had confided in her more than the other friends she had. When the two were in tenth grade, Patricia fifteen and Felicia sixteen, Felicia had dropped out of school due to problems at home. While Patricia couldn’t relate, she tried to be there to support her friend._

_Patricia took a moment to mentally figure out the time it was since the two had last spoken. Over a year ago. Before Felicia had dropped out, they were very good friends. They were cliches and were spoken of as the finest of their graduating class. Many of the girls at school envied them. They had it all. The two were popular, rich, never having to worry about being bullied or ridiculed (by anyone who mattered). Neither of the girls had to stress about their grades. Patricia’s father seemed to be very persuasive amongst the teachers and Felicia would shamelessly flirt her way to A-grade papers. In school it seemed as though everything always went according to plan for the two of them._

_However, Felicia’s home life became too much; there was a lot that she was not opening up about and had kept a secret for a long time. She was overwhelmed and a few months into tenth grade, Felicia dropped out. Patricia had helped the girl where she could, gave her advice, listened to her when she wanted to talk. As time moved on, Felicia worked to get a job and make a life for herself, and then went off of the radar. Or so it seemed. So Patricia had continued on with her own life, not dwelling on it much after the fact. She had a sickening feeling in her stomach now, recognising that she had maybe failed Felicia as a friend. Now Felicia was the one person in her phone - in her life - that she could go to. The fear of being rejected plauged Patricia’s mind. Why wouldn’t Felicia tell her to fuck off? She certainly did not owe Patricia anything. The thought of being told ‘no’ at this point was too much for Patricia to bear. Not to mention Felicia would probably be creeped out that Patricia dared to even call her after having been out of her life for over a year. But, if there was even a slight chance that she might help Patricia out, it was worth trying. Her thumb floated over the call button, hovering as she hesitated and attempted to sort out the pros and cons of calling her old friend._

_‘Fuck it.’_

_The phone rang. And rang. And rang until Patricia began to fear what seemed to be one of the most terrifying possibilities: Felicia changed her number._

_After two more rings, however, the phone was picked up. ‘Hello?’ Patricia tried to speak, fighting off a plethora of emotions._

_‘Felicia?’ ‘That’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Who the hell is this?’ She didn’t sound mad. She was alert. There was heavy music coming in over the phone; perhaps she was at a bar or out dancing with new, better friends._

_Patricia made sure to speak clearly, her hand cupping the phone and her mouth so as not to be heard by the residents of the home._

_‘It’s Patricia. Patricia Capet-’_

_‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ Patricia winced. This was a bad idea. ‘GIRL! HOW YOU BEEN! Shit, it’s been a LONG fuckin’ time!’_

_‘Yeah,’ Patricia laughed nervously, hearing herself choking up again. This was all too much. ‘Yeah, look, I have a massive favour to ask you, Felicia.’_

_‘Oh, bitch, call me Fufu. I don’t go by my slave name anymore. What’s going on, babe? You alright?’_

_‘Um, not exactly. I can’t explain it here - not now. Do you… do you drive?’ She felt foolish. She wanted to hang up now and just throw in the towel. How she ever believed that she would manage without her father was beyond her._

_‘Girl, do I drive? How the hell you think I get around this city? Public transport?!’ She cackled loudly, then grew serious. ‘Where you at? I’ll pick you up.’ Patricia could hear her speaking to someone about needing to put off her shift until later, that it was a family emergency. It was muffled and hard to hear, but Patricia heard a man grumbling and thought that she had heard “Fufu” telling him to fuck himself._

_‘You there, P?’_

_‘Yeah. Um, I’m up in Vinewood. I can try to get you an address…’_

_‘Do that. I’ll leave now.’_

 

_Felicia “Fufu” Forcucci drove a Cheval Fugitive and looked good doing it. She whipped through the hills down towards the city with Patricia riding shotgun, her suitcase in the backseat. When they arrived to her apartment building, she drove the sports car underneath into the private parking garage and found the reserved spot for apartment number four._

_The apartment was nice - beautiful even. Patricia could not believe that it was all paid for with Felicia’s own money. Fufu made drinks up and listened as Patricia told her story. More tears were shed but that was to be expected. Sadness and despair soon transformed into laughter and jokes about the past the two had managed to dredge up. Once Patricia had felt more comfortable, she had pushed herself to ask if she could stay with Fufu temporarily, just until she could work things out for herself, just until she could figure out how to get a job and manage finances and find a place to live and... She was overwhelmed. Yet, Fufu had not only accepted but enthusiastically encouraged her to stay as long as she liked. And then a little longer. The two worked to prepare the spare bedroom and Fufu offered Patricia a warm, much needed hug._

_‘Okay girl, make yourself at home. I gotta go to work or my ass will be chewed out. I'll be home in the morning, though.’ She rolled her eyes and wrapped a beige jacket around her body, covering up her toned and fair skin. She downed a glass of water and dropped the cup into the sink, the hard plastic clanging against the sink, interrupting the peace of the apartment. She faced Patricia who was sunken into the couch, dolled up in comfortable pajamas, a glass of wine in her hand. Patricia was already making herself at home, she didn’t need to be told twice._

_Felicia’s face lit up. ‘Hey! You should come to work with me.’_

_Patricia eyed her off, trying to figure out if she were full of shit or not. She was comfortable, she had had a rough night. She didn’t want to go out, not even slightly. Felicia addressed the hesitance in Patricia’s expression._

_‘Oh girl, not to work. Just to get a peep, you know? Open ba-a-r...’_

* * *

 

**VANILLA UNICORN, 2014.**

Patricia strut out onto the stage, reminiscing on how she had started her life over from the ground up exactly two years from today. It was too heavy for her to be dealing with on the pole; she needed to pull her mind away from it. Two years ago today she had run out on her mother and father. She had expected search and rescue parties to be out all over the city but there were none. It seemed as though her mother had given up hope of trying to convince her to come home. Instead, she would send the usual care package every month. It was always the same: money, gift cards for groceries and fast food, chocolates. She would include extras on special days like Patricia’s birthday or Christmas. The thought was endearing but it usually ended up sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks before it was thrown in the trash. She thought back to her kitchen now knowing that there was a Thanksgiving-themed gift basket sitting on the kitchen table. It had been there for five days.

She wrapped her leg around the pole and spun, eyes focusing on the bills that floated to the stage floor. Her mind, however, was focusing on the fury she had felt when she discovered that Martin had gone behind her back and given her new home address to her mother. She hadn’t given him the okay to do so and felt completely violated; he had crossed a line and she believed that she would truly hold it against him for eternity.

A man had screamed out to her, declaring that he loved her, wanted to marry her, even. She winked at him, offered a coy smile, and stepped away from the pole towards him. She bent down in front of him and ran her hands slowly down her legs, before dipping down low to tempt him.

Sure, it would have been fine if Martin had talked to her first about it. It wasn’t necessarily her mother that she held all of her controversies with. No, no, that was her father’s problem. He was the person who instilled fear in her mother; he was the one who forced the lies upon the two of them, creating a home that was full of secrets and distrust. She shouldn’t hold it against Martin or her mother. But she did. And she would continue to do so.

She hadn’t wanted to work tonight but she couldn’t be mad at Trevor for suggesting it; he knew what the date was and she knew that he knew. Unlike everyone else in her life who avoided her for fear of death, Trevor didn’t play into it as a vulnerability; he saw it as leverage, as a weapon for Patricia to tap into. He had called her the day before to put the offer on the table.

‘So get on stage with some fuckin’ conviction! Dance with some anger, huh?! Men love to fear an angry woman. Crush their heads in your thighs, Patricia! Give me something to live for!’

Following the phone call, he sent messages begging, saying that this time would pay out even bigger and that she could keep all her stage money, too. Well, she’s not going to say no to that. Besides, she had not really worked a night at Vanilla Unicorn in a while and she missed the girls. Most of her work lately had been with the annoying, shrew-like Lester Crest with his matter-of-fact tone, his sausage fingers, his creepy stare and eyes that undress from across the room. If not Lester, she was being harassed by her not-blood-related mobster-uncle Martin. He had been barking orders at her lately to pick up random things from all over the city, mostly women. With the two of them doing her head in, she needed to escape. So, when Trevor asked her to help him out with his big #THOTNITE plan, she accepted without a second thought.

Trevor Philips was a businessman and a damn good one at that. He knew as well as anyone that Patricia “Mama P” Capetti brought in crowds, swarms of people from all over the San Andreas. Occasionally he would set up a night - aptly named #THOTNITE - for her to come in, do the show up really big, and draw attention away from a particular part of the city. His business outside the club - well, that always went how he said it would and so Patricia always got paid handsomely. It was more than a fair partnership.

As she headed off of the stage, she watched two men trying to follow her along, calling out to her and waving for her attention. She blew one kiss and watched them just about fight over it. Dipping behind the curtain slowly, she let the audience have one last look at her from behind.

She headed straight for the bar.

‘Let’s get me real fucked up, henny. Please.’

A drink was put down before her and she knocked it back with tenacity.


	3. LADIES OF THE NIGHT.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unlikely pairing in a strip club makes for good conversation. When two ladies of the night make their way into the run-down nest of a grade-A creep in El Burro Heights, there is a lot of money to be made.

Due to the other tenants in her apartment complex putting forward their complaints, she was on a forced evacuation from the building. Apparently, if enough people report a consistent flow of vermin and an overwhelming smell of piss, these sorts of things happen. Cause and effect. So, just like old times, Catarina was taking refuge in the dressing room of a strip club. Of course, she was not fourteen years old anymore; she was twenty-three, and she was unsure if that made her seem more or less of a lost cause. She had not grown much at all in the past nine years which meant that the cot, the same cot that brought her comfort in 2004, was still a perfect fit.

When she was young, after having escaped and run from the awful foster family that the state of San Andreas had placed her with, she took to living on the streets. One afternoon, two women had found her trying to rob a convenience store. These ladies, good-hearted and selfless, reached out to the then-quite-young Catarina in the back of the store. Cat was hesitant to share much of her life with them in that moment, but the more that they were able to discover about the teen’s life, the more their hearts broke. They bought the potato chips and soda that she had been trying to steal and asked her to come with them, told her that she could eat her food in peace in the back of their ‘office’. Catarina agreed under one condition: that they bought her a pack of Redwood cigarettes. They obliged.

When Catarina realised where the two women worked, she didn’t seem to bat an eye. The two girls, Fufu and Juliet, introduced her to everyone else in the club. They all encouraged her to stay, told her it was much too cold out to spend nights in Mirror Park, that it was almost Christmas and she should be with family. They were relentless in offering their dressing room to Cat as a place to go if she ever needed it.

Catarina had tried not to see it as pity when she was younger, but it was hard at times. In reality the women were sympathetic: they had been where she was now, felt before what she was feeling then. While Cat appreciated the help and care, she was often too proud and at the end of the day she was still the a-typical stubborn adolescent. Frequently she found herself spending her nights alone in Mirror Park on benches or under the bridge of the Canal, close to her original Los Santos home. Now, of course, it had become an _entirely_ different neighbourhood.

Los Santos was not terribly cold in winter during the day. The sun beat down just the same and touched the city with a welcoming, warm glow. As time crawled deeper into the depths of December, the nights became more and more bitter; the wind would appear out of the dark and slap you right in the face, no warning, open palm.

Cat was happy - proud - that she could tell the Vanilla Unicorn ladies that she had an apartment now. She was happy that she could accept their invites to stay over, at the club or at their own houses, without feeling like she was a charity case. They were proud of her, too. She was like their little sister, all grown up.

It was a Thursday. On certain Thursday nights, the club put on an event known widely as #THOTNITE. This scheme was put together by the owner of the club, Trevor Philips; one of his many crafty and mischievous ‘business’ plans. Trevor Philips: an entrepreneur _(of sorts)_ around Los Santos and Blaine County. A heavy drug dealer and ex-Air Force pilot _(kind of)_. Handsy. Crude. Loving. The _(most recent)_ owner of the Vanilla Unicorn. Something had happened to the owner prior to Trevor’s arrival. Most people are unsure - or don't care - about the specifics. The girls say he was Trevor’s partner in management who faced an untimely death. Trevor tells a different story.

Among the qualities that come together to make Trevor the special snowflake that he is, he is above all else loyal. There were not many in Los Santos or San Andreas who could speak to Trevor’s touchy-feely side. However, due to Cat’s frequent residency as a young lass, Trevor had become an uncle _(of sorts)_ to her. She thought rather highly of the man, however unusual and outlandish his situation was.

As Thursday’s #THOTNITE was taking off per usual, ‘Mama P’ - tonight’s main attraction - walked out onto the stage. She was a fiery lady with a notorious background in the club. Many said she had ties to the mob, but no one knew for sure; she would tell her fans anything in the backroom. Anything you heard around the club should be taken with a grain of salt.

Much to the club attendees’ dismay, Mama P had recently left a full-time position at Vanilla Unicorn for a more fitting role, she would explain. She had been on a hiatus from the club and did not plan on coming back - not permanently. She occasionally worked a night or two for a bit of fun and extra cash; to catch up with her gal pals. Tonight, though, this was strictly business.

She was brought to the club on Trevor’s request, Catarina knew that much. He claimed that he ‘really needed attention off the streets tonight’ and that this lady was the one who would make it happen for him. All around Strawberry, Mama P demanded attention in bright lights – and she received it. The streets cleared out and the club filled with men and, not surprisingly, a lot of women as well. Catarina had learned through multiple overnight stays in the dressing room that the other dancers often grew jealous of Mama P: her looks, the flawless complexion; her money, the cars she could afford and the house that she lived in; and of course the attention that she would without a doubt be granted by customers.

As she watched Mama P’s routine, Catarina realised that she had a sort of unspoken respect for Mama P; she could get anything that she wanted from people, on or off of the pole. This was one slice of gossip that the other girls raved on about that was well known as fact. She seemed to have this aura, an energy and vibe which surrounded her and enveloped, devoured others standing nearby. The woman exuded sensuality. She was charismatic and seemingly magnetic, sucking people in. That, or she was just that good looking.

As Mama P’s show came to a fantastically loud finish, people were squirming in their chairs; money fell to the stage as the other dancers were up for their shows.

Catarina stood at the ATM, leaning against a wall in the eastern corridor of the club, watching as Mama P exited stage left and headed towards the bar. She looked like she was on a mission, not taking her eyes off of the bartender. Cat had been advised not to talk to Mama P when she was at the bar. Fufu said that Mama P needs to be left alone when she drinks, as she usually did on her nights of work, and that it was best for Cat to keep her distance.

There were a lot of questions that she had for the infamous dancer. More than once Cat had watched from the sidelines, listening to Fufu and giving her space. Before Cat could realise, that woman had disappeared. On a few different nights, she watched as Mama P was swept away by men or women, their hands all over one another, tongues down each other’s throat. She had figured it was best to leave Mama P alone then, too.

‘Fuck this…’ Cat took a deep breath and moved into the club. She walked up to the bar and sat next to Mama P, waiting as she downed her first drink with haste. Cat tried to figure out how to approach the situation. She had already intervened, already put herself in the sacred, protected area around Mama P and the bar. From here on out, there were no rules to play by.

‘I was told to leave you alone while you drink.’ Cat stared at the side of Mama P’s head, waiting. Waiting for what, exactly, she was not really sure.

Mama P did not look to face Catarina, only continued to order herself another drink. When it arrived, she finished it as quickly as she had ended the first, licking her lips when she placed the shot glass down.

‘Well, you don’t follow directions well, do you?’ She was not expecting an answer. The bartender placed another glass in front of her.

‘You know what you’re doing. I see the money that you make when you’re here. Why leave?’ She tried to get a word in before the third round of drinks began.

Mama P emptied the glass, set it down on the hardwood of the bar once more, looking forward and smirking at the bartender. The bartender returned the grin, looking smug, as if there was an inside joke that Cat was not clued in on. When Mama P finally faced Catarina, she eyed her shaved head and bruised face with a distasteful look. She had seen this girl before around the club; she knew that she was young, but couldn’t pin an age on her. The other girls knew her well, it seemed, and apparently looked after her from time to time. She had been uninterested in the young girl’s existence. Others might have spoken about her before but she did not remember her name or what her business was in the club. Was she Trevor’s…. relative? Who cares? Now, as her private post-show bar-time was being (rudely) interrupted, she wasn’t sure why the girl was even talking with her. They had no connections. They had no reason to be talking. Yet, here she was.

Mama P opened her mouth to speak as three men - adoring fans - rushed the bar.

‘Great show tonight, Mama P’, the first one said, drenched in his own sweat. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while! Great, great show.’

‘Yeah, P, where you been?’ the second was trying to call out from the back.

Poor guy, Catarina thought. She could see that he was struggling to make eye contact with this dangerously beautiful and notorious dancer. The third man stared, seemingly choking on nerves, eyes bulging as he looked ‘P’ up and down. The three of them seemed to be completely oblivious to Cat’s existence.

Mama looked at all three of them, disgust in her gaze. ‘I guess you did not see that I was having a conversation,’ she looked at Catarina and put her hand on her leg. ‘I’m sorry, hon, what were you saying?’ The three men stood there, more than likely shitting their pants without a clue in the world with what to do. Apologise would be one thing, but they seemed to be stunned. Catarina continued awkwardly.

‘Uh,’ she switched her look from the humiliated men to P. The woman had barely acknowledged her before, and now was resting her hand on Cat’s leg and giving her her full, undivided attention.

‘I was just saying... that you know how to handle your shit and-’ (were one of these men crying ?) ‘-that you know how to get what you want.’

P’s smile was sweet, innocent, and fake. She looked back to the three men. ‘Can you, like… fuck off?’ The three of them nearly trampled one another to get out of her sight. Facing Catarina again, she apologised. ‘Sorry, this is the third time I have had to shoo them away just tonight. Poor lonely babies. They have nothin’ for me, you know? Comin’ to me with singles and fives. Honey,’ she clapped her hands together defiantly, causing Catarina to jump in her seat. ‘If you miss me so much, bring out the bigger bills, okay?’ She shook her head as she picked up another drink. ‘Anyway, thanks henny. The art of manipulation is a true masterpiece that I have worked years to perfect.’ Raising a glass as if to toast herself, she downed it as quickly as she had picked it up.

Catarina was in awe. _This may be the biggest bitch in Los Santos._

‘What do you do when you aren’t manipulating the poor scum here? I heard some others say that you have a job outside this. A big job.’ A drink was put down in front of Cat and she picked it up, sipping it as though she had some telepathic waves pulsing through her brain, saying, ‘To Cat, from Mama P, drink up bitch’. _Claro que si, mami._

‘Ah, yes, well.. dancing is fun but it gets boring. Especially with this crowd.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Normally I’d tell you not to trust these sluts as far as you can fuckin’ throw ‘em. But they’re right. For once in their goddamn lives.’ Something passed over P’s face, then, and it did not go unrecognised by Cat. Perhaps it was uncertainty: uncertainty of Cat and why she was asking these kinds of questions; uncertainty of whether she should open up or keep everything really shallow and safe. It was fleeting and the haughtiness flushed back to her eyes, her lips pouted in her silence, serving looks to the girl across from her. She continued.

‘There’s this friend of mine, let’s call him… _Dick_. He’s scum as well, no different from the lousy fucks here. But he knows his shit. So, I make a bit of money doing work for him.’ She leaned forward, eyebrow raised. ‘Not that kinda work.’ She winked and sat back up, pulling a cigarette from between her breasts. ‘He’s the brains of the whole thing, comes up with really crazy shit. I just do the hands on bits.’ She winked again. ‘I usually do a few jobs a week to keep me entertained, do a night or two here for fun every other week. Or a few times a month if these fucks get on my nerves. And they do. And, well, whatever the hell I want with the rest of my time.’ She looked Catarina up and down. ‘Girl, what are you wearing.’ It wasn’t a question. She waited a moment, lingering on the edge of her bar stool.

Catarina stared back, unsure of what to do with herself, and raised her eyebrows in confusion.

‘Oh, I uh, I don’t have much.’ Cat shrugged, assuming that her answer was adequate. For any reasonable person, it would be.

‘Yeah. Clearly.’ P clicked her tongue, still looking Cat up and down. ‘What the fuck’s your deal, anyway?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You come up here in my private time. You know you’re not supposed to be around me right now. And you’re here, asking me all this… weird shit. Hitting on me. Looking like Cinderella before she got off with that good dick. You know, when she had to sweep the attic all day. So, what’s the deal? Are you like, homeless or something? Are you trying to make me your suga’ mama?’

‘Not quite.’ She spat back.

‘So… what, then?’ P leaned against the bar, this time wanting to hear what Cat had to say.

‘Look. _P._  Just forget it.’ She used her name against her, speaking with disdain, throwing it in Mama P’s face as if she were calling her on her bullshit. Cat had started to step down from the bar, regretting the entire conversation. P grabbed her by the elbow.

‘Nuh-uh, honey. Not that easy. Sit.’

Cat looked up at the woman on her stool from under an angry brow. ‘Fine. I figured maybe you had a job somewhere else - like the girls say. I figured, you know, if you’re leaving this kind of money then.. there has to be something else… Or maybe not, maybe you just come from rich parents and -’

P put a hand over her chest, looking shocked. ‘Do I look like I’m just mooching off of rich fuckin’ parents?’

‘No. I just thought -’

‘Good, ‘cause I’m fuckin’ not. Okay, bitch?’

‘Yeah, okay, sure mami. Look, I thought maybe you’re just dancing on the side and you’ve got this good paying job. A good paying job that might be looking to hire some new people soon. Or, ever. I don’t know.’ She was frustrated, talking fast. She figured if she moved quick enough, she could escape P’s clutches and head for the door.

‘Oh, a job? That’s it? That’s why you’re here asking all this shit?’

Cat nodded, putting off her escape plan. For now.

‘You need money? Girl, if you need money, why don’t you strip? _Ha._  I kid, I kid. Not until you grow your hair out.’ She paused. ‘How old are you anyway, like… seventeen? Eighteen?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Ooh, baby. You’re so little!’ She reached out in attempts to pinch Cat’s cheeks but the girl had dodged her degrading gesture. Cat sneered and remained silent, waiting for a proper response in regards to the questions about a job. She had spent all of these months leading up to asking this and now she was about to get an answer. Hopefully. Maybe P would just slap her and strut off. Or spit in her face and tell her to get fucked. She really couldn’t be too sure but she was more than willing to stick around and find out. What other option did she have?

P was silent for a moment, processing the conversation. With a cigarette placed between her lips, she nodded slowly, seemingly debating her own thoughts and voices in her head. When she had made her decision, she hopped down from the bar and grabbed Catarina’s hand. ‘Let’s go, hunty.’

They left the club and walked out into the parking lot. Sirens were going off everywhere, explosions could be heard from the north. Whatever Trevor was up to, it was a big night.

Mama P’s car was parked in the VIP lot: a black and hot pink Zentorno. Well, of course. As Catarina settled into the low, leather seats of the car, Mama P took out a pack of cigarettes from the middle console, offering one up to Catarina before removing a lighter from the box and lighting the one she had between her lips. She handed the lighter to Catarina.

‘What’s your name again?’ She blew smoke out in her direction, shrouds of grey wafting towards Cat, hugging her face and fogging up her vision.

‘Catarina.’ She felt weird introducing herself. It was not something that happened often. ‘And you’re Mama P, obviously. But,’ she placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it. She took a drag. Exhaled. Her eyes watched the cigarette burn, the tip hot and ashes bright orange, dimming. ‘I don’t actually think I know your real name.’

‘Patricia. Or just Mama. Or just P. Whatever you want, girl, I don’t give a shit. A rose by any other name, yeah?’ She put the car in drive and sped out of the parking lot.

As they drove through the city, the buildings and surroundings were a blur. Lights melted together into a sea of harsh, sickening colours. Catarina was not sure where they were going, but she didn’t ask; the mystery of it was enthralling.

A text came through on Patricia’s phone. It was from Trevor who was saved in her phone as ‘Cocksucker’. He was thanking her for a pleasurable and successful evening; advising that her money had been since wired into her account; that he would be in touch. _Love, T._

Curiosity ran infectious through Catarina’s mind like a terrifying new disease. No one was quite sure where it derived from. Cat was not normally quite so curious of other’s personal lives unless it was business related _(was this business related?)_. Catarina didn’t know if this curiosity was going to be fixed or satisfied. It caused her nerves to twitch. She only ever got so excited about a very few things and being driven through Los Santos by a near-stranger on a mystery tour was not on that list. The incubation period was over, her symptoms were flaring. She was suffering from full blown curiosity and it was not going to go away. She was sure that if she didn’t have her questions answered - and soon - then she would simply drop dead. She thought to ask about what Trevor had needed her for tonight, what his big plans were. She remembered the explosions north side of the city and changed her mind. Her question went in a different direction.

‘So, where are we going?’

Without answering, Patricia fingered through her phone and picked a contact, set to ring them, and waited. Catarina listened to the distilled ringing echoing through the Bluetooth of the Zentorno. The ringing cut out followed by the fumbling of a phone and a man’s voice, nasally and rat-like, He spoke into the receiver.

‘Yeah P, what is it? Y’need me to distract the cops?’

_Distract the cops?_

‘No. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in fifteen.’ She hung up. ‘You’re going to meet Lester.’

 

Lester Crest, a desperate but brilliant mole of a man who could work out the most successfully asinine heists and yet still never figure out how to unhook a woman’s brassiere. His home, tucked away in a small neighbourhood in El Burro Heights, was littered with security cameras, photos of heists past, and naked women.

‘Good morning P,’ Lester cooed, pushing his glasses up further on his fat face. ‘And, who is this?’ He was looking with a furrowed brow to Catarina’s shaved head.

‘This is Catarina. She’s my new partner.’ Cat’s head darted to Patricia, then to Lester.

_Partner?_

‘She’s good.’

Lester looked Catarina up and down without speaking and then turned away. He hustled over to his desk with the help of a cane gripped tightly in his right hand, knuckles showing white through his skin. He pushed papers aside with a free hand, sifting through folders and trying to lift a box that read ‘assassinations’ with one hand. ‘I don’t work here much, I do most of this from the warehouse,’ he said, beginning to find breathing more and more difficult as he searched. With a grunt he gave up on the box of papers and plopped his body down into a chair at the desk, resting both of his hands on the cane now. Patricia picked up the box and crossed the room, putting it on a shelf next to a similar looking box, only this one read ‘zombie outbreaks’.

_Where the fuck...?_

Catarina’s eyes scanned the room. Papers everywhere, boxes on boxes of information; folders full of details across different times in history; various identities stored, people’s most intimate details. Computer monitors lined a second desk in the opposite corner of the room, many streaming multiple feeds from cameras around the perimeter of Lester’s house. One monitor was playing what looked like a low-budget porno.

With all of the clutter, it didn’t seem too strange or too out of place that there were photos of LifeInvader CEO Jay Norris all across the back wall. Pictures from years ago; he looked young and ambitious even then. There was a photo of Lester standing beside Norris, each holding their degree from the University of San Andreas. Catarina leaned closer, examining the old photograph. Lester had gained weight since it had been taken. And lost a lot of hair. It looked as though Norris had stayed the same. Perhaps he was even more fit, more handsome now. Well, not now - before he died.

An article cut from the newspaper was pinned next to the photo of Lester and Jay.

**LIFEINVADER: HOW JAY NORRIS SNUCK OUT**

**OF HIS PARENT’S BASEMENT AND INTO**

**EVERY HOUSE ACROSS THE WORLD!**

Another clipping of Norris’ obituary, clippings of when his absolute existence came to an explosive end on a live television broadcast, pinned up on the board. She remembered the chaos of it, remembered seeing televisions in every storefront covering the story. Every car that passed had seemed to be listening to some radio DJ talking about the successes and the tragedy of Jay Norris.

Catarina looked to Lester.

‘You knew Jay Norris?’

‘Ah, so it speaks!’ He was holding an inhaler in his left hand, finding his breath was coming more easily to him now that he has sat down. ‘I did know Jay, yes. We were in college together. Tragic, isn’t it? He was so… brilliant.’ He was looking _(glaring)_ at her with beady eyes. It sounded as though he was speaking through clenched teeth, as though the words were painful to say. Catarina wasn’t sure whether it was his tone or his bizarre stare that made her question him.

‘Did they ever find out what happened?’ She reached out and touched a photo, a printed image from the Weazel News broadcast. Blood, explosive light where Jay Norris’ head was meant to be, his body standing at the podium just before it had dropped to the floor. What kind of person keeps pictures like this of their friend? Fuck, people don’t need reminders of this kind of shit. A photo flashed up into her mind, not as tangible as the one at her fingertips her but still just as vivid, just as sharp. Her mother’s legs strewn across the carpet. A pool of blood. Dead. She refocused troubled eyes on the picture of the detonation of Norris’ head. Why was Lester dedicating a shrine to the assassination of a friend, a good ol' college buddy, Jay Norris?

Then it hit her.

‘Did you do this?’ She turned to face Lester who was now wearing a very perverted smile.

‘Girl, we can have a lesson on Lester’s history later. Right now we need the shit on Fleeca. You still need someone for it, Crest?’

Lester was still eyeing Catarina, but he pulled himself out of it to answer Patricia. ‘Yes, yes, the Fleeca job. Alright, well,’ he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a folder. Papers were bursting out from the sides of the manilla folder due to overcapacity, springing out each and every way. In his other hand, he pulled out an iFruit phone. ‘You’ll have to drive, P.’

‘Lester, baby, you know I’m always the driver. Are you tryin’ to threaten me with a good time?’ Patricia spoke and it was like velvet to Lester’s ears. He seemed to have a sweet spot for this woman, although Catarina was noticing now that every man seemed to react the same in her presence. She was half-surprised that Lester hadn’t shot off in his briefs yet.

‘No, Patricia, none of that Zentorno bullshit. This isn’t your typical job. _This is next level shit._ Trevor would piss his pants to be doing this but I can’t trust him with it right now. His head is up in La La Land with the work he is doing for Cheng and the Triads.’ He rolled his eyes as he stood up from his desk, eyeing Cat off once more. Sizing her up. ‘I hope your little _partner_ here is good for the job. It’ll be your head, P, not mine.’ He plucked a ring of keys off of a hook on the wall by the door. A car key, a house key, and a big bronze key that had ‘DB’ embossed into it. Catarina looked from Lester to Patricia but her confusion went unnoticed. _Not a typical job?_ Patricia snatched the keys from Lester’s grip. Her hand and fingers were petite and fine compared to his sausage fingers.

‘Shut the fuck up, Lester, okay? If I say she’s good, _then she’s fucking good_.’ Catarina panicked. _Good for what?_ If she were to screw something up and cause Patricia to lose her job - well, she didn’t want to even think about it. She’d be dead. Or worse. Certainly Patricia wouldn’t just drag her into this thing without some sort of… prep. Or, maybe she would. It’s not like she knew the woman. She watched her manipulate the men at the club; they were no different from the short and stout man relying on his cane and an inhaler before them. What if Patricia were just manipulating him, too, so that she could get paid? She would probably tell the man anything that he wanted to hear if it secured a payday. Cat tried to relax but could only lower the volume of the voices in her head. They persisted in whispers, breeding worry in the back of her mind. She thought back to the medicine that she left back in the dressing room of the strip club as she followed her ‘partner’ and Lester outside.

Lester began locking his house up which is in and of itself a process. It is a time consuming but necessary step to keep Lester from having a severe panic attack. Bolts clicked into place, Lester’s key twisted and turned. Patricia had taken the folder from him and was heading down to the sidewalk. She lit up a cigarette, offering one to Catarina who was slowly making her way down the walkway, attempting to assess everything. Patricia planted herself up against the navy blue Declasse Asea and the two things could not be more opposite. Patricia, Mama P: she was a woman who belonged in her hot pink Zentorno with its purring engine, it’s lush and luxurious interior. Here, standing next to this small four-door dink of a car, she looked like a fish out of and quite far from any body of water.

Patricia must have noticed the furrowed brow or look of utter confusion and disarray on Catarina’s face. She leaned forward to light the girl’s cigarette with her own.

‘Don’t try to make sense of any of this shit right now.’ Exhaling, smoke flowing out with each word. ‘It’s too fucked.’

Catarina nodded slightly, taking a drag off of the cigarette as she watched Lester hobble down the long, crooked walkway from his house. His whole persona had this slight crook in it. His house leaned slightly to the left on its foundation, the fencing around his house was crooked, wavering in the breeze, not planted very deep into the earth. His walkway weaved and each slate was slightly off from the next, making a very hectic path to his front door. He walked with a hunch as he leaned on the cane, excusing his right leg from having to work as hard as the left. The man was fucked up.

‘He killed Jay Norris.’ Catarina looked at Patricia, cigarette nearly tumbling from her lips to the pavement. Patricia did not look back to meet the questioning eyes that were boring into her, suddenly seeing this entire situation from a different perspective. _This piece of shit? This old, rickety piece of shit killed_ Jay Norris _?_

‘Fuck off,’ she said, disbelieving. Her eyes moved to Lester’s cane, his loafers, his gut that was hanging over his 42-inch-waist jeans.

‘Trust. After this, you’ll get it.’ Patricia flicked the cigarette and yelled to Lester to hurry his ass up.

 

They were heading north in Lester’s tin can of a car, north of the bright lights and excitement of the city and up the Coastal Highway. The further away they got from Los Santos, the darker it seemed outside of the car. It was 3:31 in the morning according to the digital clock set in the dashboard, sickly green numbers yelling out to be heard. Patricia was driving, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a cigarette to her lips, occasionally dragging from it and flicking it out the window. Flecks of orange blew away into the darkness. Lester was riding shotgun, papers strewn across his lap with a small flashlight hovering over the maps, blueprints of some building.

Catarina sat in the back seat with her hands in her lap, staring out the window. She was wracking her brain in attempts to think back to the last time she had really opened up to anyone like she had been doing with Patricia this evening. It was a weird feeling. She had confided so much in someone she had known for… not a long enough time by any means. She could count on one hand the people in her life that she trusted with such confidence prior to meeting Patricia.

MAMA.

FRANCO.

PAPA.

FUFU.

* * *

 

_And Walt. She had been friends with Walt Baker since fifth grade. Ten years old. Walt lived with his mother and father a couple of streets down from Catarina and her father. They would ride their bikes together, pretending that they were in a motorcycle gang. They would draw fake tattoos on their skin with permanent markers to showcase the authenticity of the gang and to prove loyalty. They were inseparable. Climbing trees, playing in the Canal, playing at the Lake. Walt had even somehow made Cat’s empty pool seem fun and exciting._

_They tried their first kiss with one another when they were eleven. Neither of them enjoyed it very much. They decided that maybe they just weren’t into kissing yet and left it at that, running back to their adventures._

_Life became quite difficult for Cat when her father died but Walt had comforted her. Walt had comforted her when she was told by strange police officers that she needed to go to a foster home. Walt had comforted her when she was taken in by a family with an abusive father figure and a very dangerous foster sibling. Walt had comforted her when she decided she was going to run away and he helped her make the grand escape._

_‘We’ve been waiting years for this moment, Cat. This getaway - it’s the adventure that we have been waiting our whole lives for. We’re getting you out of there.’_

_Cat had listened and trusted him. She couldn’t afford not to. Walt had comforted her when she had gotten caught stealing jewellery from a pawn shop. She knew that she’d be locked up in a juvenile detention center or worse: sent back to her foster family. The cop had closed in on her, telling her not to try anything, that if she makes this easy it’ll go a hell of a lot better for her. She had attempted to run and the cop had pulled her back by the braid of thick, dark hair that fell down past her shoulders. She wrestled out of the grip, fighting through the pain of hair being ripped out. With stinging eyes and tears falling on her cheeks, she bolted out the front door of the pawn shop and grabbed her bike, riding to Walt’s house as quickly as she could._

_Walt had comforted her when she decided to shave her head._

_She had finally gotten used to the ‘new normal’ of homelessness, loneliness, working multiple jobs across the city and stealing to afford food. She had finally accepted what her new life was and was working hard to make it enjoyable._

_Then, quite suddenly, Walt was nowhere to be found. She could not see him at school because she had dropped out. She didn’t see him at Hookies, the restaurant that they both worked at, because he quit without notice. She tried knocking on the door to his house but nobody ever answered. She would borrow phones from people on the street, asking if she could make a call because her phone’s battery was dead, but his number had changed since they had last spoken. He had dropped off of the face of the earth and she was completely and utterly alone._

_She had walked up the pathway to the house, dead leaves crunching under her boots. She had knocked on the door, politely but firm._

_No answer._

_She had waited, giving the Baker family the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps they didn’t hear the knock, she had let herself think. It’s almost dinner time, perhaps they’re setting the table and getting ready to eat. She knocked again, more firm than polite but still trying to remain cool, calm, and collected._

_No answer._

_Toying with a few options in her mind, she decided to give one last try. More demanding this time, running short on patience. She called out, ‘Hello? I need to talk with Walter. It’s important.’_

_The house was too quiet and it was discomforting. She was getting very aggravated with all of this. It was starting to get really cold and she was going to have to take the bus or walk. She hated taking the bus. She knocked again fast and the doorknob began turning as her knuckles rapped against the solid wooden door._

_Walt stood in the doorway. His face had changed. It had been over a year. He was a licensed driver now and he looked much more mature, more grown up, than she remembered. Catarina was sure she had matured as well, what with everything that she had seen, everything that she had done. She, however, did not have the driver’s license to prove it. As far as the state of San Andreas was concerned, she was a nobody. A nobody who has done nothing._

_‘Cat, my parents are g-’_

_Her fist grabbed his collar and dragged him down the steps, holding him down in the walkway, his head inches above the stone path. He was taller than her but she was faster, probably stronger than he believed her to be. She was quite small, after all. Cat kneeled down, crouching over his body, her hand in a tight fist next to her side._

_‘Why’d you ditch me?’_

_‘Cat, I di-’_

_**Whomp.** The sickening sound of heavy fist pounding hard into flesh and bone._

_‘Why’d you ditch me?’_

_‘Catarina! St-’_

**_Whomp._ **

_‘Why’d you ditch me?’ Her voice was calm and Walt was frightened. His nose was bleeding now and his right eye was starting to swell shut. Something changed. Despite his efforts to try and protect his friend, he knew he had failed her. There was nothing that he could do now, nothing to keep her from finding out what she wanted to know. The only thing he could do was fulfil his responsibility, his duty as her friend, and be honest with her. He answered her question with a weak and hurt voice._

_‘My parents. They told me I couldn’t hang out with you.’_

_Her brow furrowed in confusion. She kept her fist hovering above his face in midair, but it faltered slightly, loosening a little in its grip as her heart grew heavier from his words. Her breath hit the back of her throat and caught._

_‘Why the hell would they say that?’ Her voice still calm, unwavering. Walt did not notice that her fist had sagged slightly._

_‘Look, Cat. Let’s just-’_

_**Whomp.** His face was red and swelling, blood streaming from his nose and his mouth. His lip was split and Catarina just stared, holding his collar tight in her fist, her face only inches away from his._

_‘Cat.’_

_She looked at him, his eyes wincing, afraid he was going to be hit, but it never came. Catarina stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He opened one eye and saw that her fist was still raised and clenched._

_‘They said… I couldn’t hang out. That you’re… well, that I’d end up in prison. Or…’ He hesitated. He didn’t need to say anything further. He shouldn’t say anything further; just leave it at that. Knowing Cat as well as he did, Walt knew that the possibility of prison would not fly, that it would not be a reason to walk away. Prison was nothing. Death, on the other hand, was terrifying. No, he didn’t need to continue confessing with his parents warnings, but he was putting an end to the lying right then and there. Bruises began to settle under his skin and the words unfolded from his lips. ‘Or that I’d end up like your family.’ His voice was quiet and he waited._

_Catarina’s breath was rushing through grit teeth, seething. She heard sirens in the distance and looked up to the window of the house. Walter’s mother was looking through the window and she had jumped back, causing the blinds to quake from her movement. Cat looked back to Walt._

_‘I’m sorry, Cat. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I got scared, I guess. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. They’re wrong. I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’_

_Catarina looked at him, listening to the sirens wailing as they grew closer and louder. She looked at his face, fully swollen now and starting to bruise, covered in blood. He was crying, blood running with tears down his face and puddling onto the walkway. As her mind raced, she had no idea what to do. The sirens were only streets away now. Around his belt loop was a carabiner with several keys hooked onto it. She unclipped it from his pants and clipped it onto her own belt loop. She leaned in very close to Walt so that their faces were nearly touching. Walt’s heartbeat was almost audible. She could see the fear in the one eye that he could open. Blood spilled into his eye from a cut on his eyebrow._

_‘Fuck you.’_

_She punched him again, slamming her fist into the centre of his face. She felt his nose crack, the cartilage snapping and crunching under her knuckles. The force of the punch sent his head backwards and she let go of his collar, allowing the back of his skull to collide with the concrete. She stood up and unclipped the carabiner from her belt loop, running to the sidewalk where his car was parked. A 1999 Karin Sultan. With the door unlocked, key in the ignition, her hands began to shake. She steadied them on the steering wheel before looking back to the house. Walt’s mother was screaming from the window, afraid to leave the house. She was calling out to someone over the phone: the 9-1-1 operator, most likely. The sirens were blaring, now, closing in on Cat and a very bloody Walt Baker. She looked away from the house, focused on the car, and switched the key over. The engine roared up. As the shifter moved ominously towards the ‘D’ for ‘drive’, Cat took a deep breath._

_She had never driven before in her life. This seemed like a good a time as any to start._

* * *

 

‘Bitch are you dreaming back there?’

Patricia’s voice brought her back to the car. Back to the future, five, nearly six years later.

‘Uh, yeah, sorry.’ Catarina rubbed her face and realised she had no idea how long she had been staring out the window. She looked at the clock in the dashboard. 3:52 AM.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Lester said, ‘I want to explain to you what this is going to be like. This job is not just for anyone. It’s not the most complicated but you need to be sharp and quick. It’s efficient and you need to be efficient for this to work, do you understand? This job requires a bit more tact than your usual shit, Patricia. I’m not sure what your savage of a friend back there has for experience, but you will both be paid respectively. This isn’t flippin’ burgers.’

They were driving alongside the ocean but it was all dark. It looked like the world just ended here, as if you could walk right off of this highway and plummet to nothingness. Catarina noticed they were pulling up on the side of the road. There was little to see other than a small bank outside of her window.

‘I’m currently hacking into the network of the bank,’ Lester continued, and Catarina listened as she attempted to imagine what could possibly be stored in this bank. Why wouldn’t Lester want Maze? ‘This system shows me what the cameras inside can see. It shows me what the security looks like. It’s a small bank and there’s little security but it’s the alarms that matter, here. These alarms go off,’ he made a gesture of a gun to his head and blew his imaginary brains out with his imaginary gun. ‘You’re done for if you’re not quick. The cops will be on this shit like you have never seen before.’ He handed Catarina the iFruit phone and she looked through the security feeds appearing on the screen. ‘There are two cameras in the lobby, one behind the desk, and one aiming at the vault. Unfortunately, this feed is accessed by a police station less than a mile away.’ Catarina looked up and Lester was smiling that same perverted smile he flashed her back at his house. ‘Fortunately, this phone is encrypted with a hacking software that deactivates the lock on the vault. Inside of the bank. You’re welcome. If no one is to suspect anything on the outside, you should be in and out of there relatively quick. When the lock is opened with the hack, you can basically walk right in. P will be acting crowd control. She loves that bit.’

Patricia flashed a sick smile in agreeance.

‘Patricia will have to act quickly to take out the cameras so the cops don’t catch on - they’ll see it as a feed glitch if you can get them out quickly enough. Four cameras. Shoot them as fast as your pretty little fingers will allow.’

Mama P was nodding her head, taking a photo of herself to upload to her Snapmatic account as Lester explained the task. She looked away from the mirrored camera on her phone.

‘Okay, so what do we do?’

‘Exit that, Catarina, and open the other programme on that screen.’ She did as she was instructed, however slowly. Lester may have been impatient with the girl’s lack of technological prowess but he didn’t stress.

‘You don’t pressure a hacker.’ He had mumbled to Patricia, who ignored his comment. In front of Cat’s eyes, a black screen with what looked like a maze opened up. Everything was tinted with green and a line began running madly in different directions. Catarina quickly caught on, attempting to guide it through the walls of the maze. She safely herded the line towards the end, completing a circuit, and opening a lock. ‘You need to be able to use that programme. That is the same programme that will hack into the network to set up the failure in the vault lock. It will take you a while so you will need to do it as P is driving.’ He turned to face Patricia who was still taking photos of herself. ‘P, you can drive us back now.’ Then, to Catarina, ‘You keep practicing that until you have it mastered. It’s okay if you screw it up on there, you’re in a sort of beta testing application. You won’t fuck anything up.’

They dropped Lester off and Catarina was told to keep the phone.

‘You’ll need to be able to hack those codes in your sleep.’ he advised. Cat sat in the passenger seat of Patricia’s Zentorno, her hand gripping her new phone in her left hand. The clock read 4:36 AM and the sky was bubblegum pink with oranges and yellows streaming through it. A lot of the time, the city of Los Santos looked dirty and grungy. It was constantly adorning a thick smog. The mornings, however, always brought a different vibe and the quiet that settled around the city at this time led Catarina to believe that she wasn’t the only one that took this time to admire the morning light.

Patricia was driving south towards the city and asked where Catarina lived.

‘Oh, you could just drop me at the Vanilla Unicorn.’ She rubbed the back of her neck. It felt weird saying that to Patricia. It felt like she was asking someone who worked at SubUrban to just drive her around and drop her off in the loading bay. ‘Fufu will be there still. She had asked me to stay...’ This wasn’t entirely a lie. ‘Said she brought some breakfast in for me.’

Patricia looked at her, taking her eyes off of the road a little too long for Catarina’s comfort. She knew the roads well, though, and it showed. Looking forward, she made a left turn where she should have taken a right to merge onto the highway. If she had turned right, if she had merged like she was meant to, then Catarina would have been settling into her makeshift cot in the dressing room of the strip club in less than fifteen minutes. Instead, Patricia did not take that right turn and she did not merge. She turned left, and then continued up over a hill. She made her way quickly up through Vinewood Hills, the Zentorno moving close to the ground as if it were a lioness hunting her prey. It seemed as though the Zentorno was making the decisions, not Patricia. That the Zentorno was guiding them through these hilly and windy roads. Mansions lined either side of the street and Catarina just waited, phone still gripped in her hand. She had no idea where she was going, what she should be expecting, so she waited simply for the car to come to a stop and for the engine to rest.

Soon enough, it did.

Patricia stepped out of the car and her long legs pushed her up the steps of a stilt-house, hanging dangerously over a cliff above houses in Vinewood Hills below. Catarina’s feet pulled her from the car and she precariously followed Patricia up the steps. The door unlocked as Patricia’s keys fit in and when Catarina didn’t step in right away, Mama P’s fist pulled her in by her jacket.

‘The couch is quite comfy,’ she said, pointing to the living room. ‘Or there's a spare bedroom down the hall. You'll crash here. Then I won't have to pick you up later.’

Catarina was already shaking her head before Patricia even finished speaking. ‘No, no, no, Patricia, really. It’s fine. I really should head back to the club. Fufu has breakfast. I don’t need to be taking up your space.’

‘Bitch, shut the fuck up. And fuck Fufu. You want breakfast so bad? You feel bad about staying in my house? Quit cryin’ and go make us something to eat. I’m going to shower.’ She threw her keys down in a glass bowl by the door. As she descended down the stairs, the sound of her heels on hardwood flooring grew more and more distant. A door closed.

Catarina took her shoes off by the door and walked into the kitchen, her eyes bulging from her head. This was by far the most beautiful house she had ever seen. Is this the life you live when you strip? ‘cos fuckin’ sign me up. She ran her hand over marble countertops. Or is this from Lester’s jobs? She remembered, then, the phone in her hand. She sat at a stool that was placed at the island in Patricia’s kitchen and began thumbing through the phone from Lester. She opened the beta app of the hacking software. It was difficult but not impossible. She was getting the hang of it more and more. She heard the shower turn off followed by some footsteps and quiet thumps. The door downstairs opened.

‘Forget breakfast, henny, I’m going to sleep. Night.’ Another door opened, then closed. She was alone in the very quiet, very big, very _empty_ house. Her eyes shifted back from the stairs to the screen of her phone. She walked herself to the living off of the entryway and kitchen, continuing to let her thumbs work the pixelated maze on the screen. She moved through the room, stripping down to her sports bra and underwear and allowing herself to melt into the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs.

 

She woke up to Patricia kicking the edge of the couch. ‘Hey, cutie with a bootie, get your ass up.’ She was alarmed at first, her body sitting up, stiff, gripping the leather of the couch as she glanced around the living room. When her surroundings began to make sense, her shoulders settled. Her cheeks flushed when she realised that she had drooled on the couch pillow slightly. She wiped at her face frantically. Wearing the same clothes from yesterday: a worn, white tee-shirt which and olive cargo pants which hugged her legs. A flannel shirt was rolled up into a ball which she had used as a pillow the night before. She tried flattening the wrinkles out of it over her arm as she moved herself to the kitchen.

She looked up from buttoning her pants to see a box of cereal and a carton of orange juice sitting on the island. Patricia was leaning against the countertop, lighting a cigarette.

‘Good morning.’ Catarina nodded her reply, a nervous smile on her lips, and seated herself at the island in the kitchen. She assembled a bowl of Strawberry Rails and filled a glass with juice. As she brought the glass to her lips, she realised Patricia was setting up her iFruit phone to the Bluetooth surround speaker system that was set up throughout the apartment. It was 10:37 in the morning.

The phone rang a few times before Lester’s voice filled the room. Patricia was still leaning against the kitchen counter and facing Catarina, both listened to Lester’s instructions.

‘I’ve transferred some money into your accounts,’ he was saying. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll get you some new toys. You’ll want to stock up for this.’

‘How much?’ Patricia exhaled smoke in Catarina’s direction, noting the girl’s attempt at masking her curiosity.

‘Approximately $5500,’ he answered. ‘I know it’s not much, P. Just get the ammunition that you need to get the Kuruma. It’ll be worth it.’

Catarina had difficulty swallowing her spoonful of cereal at Lester’s words. Five thousand dollars - no, _five and a half thousand fucking dollars_ \- were going to be transferred into a bank account for her and for what? Her body seemed to forget how to work its muscles to appropriately chew, swallow, and digest food. It seemed like even the sugary, fruity rings were alarmed and caught off guard, sticking out their arms and legs to jam themselves in her throat for a time-out so that she could appropriately process what Lester had said.

‘The getaway car that you’re going to be needing for this heist to run smoothly is currently being… _looked after_.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, the Kuruma is fully armoured and it’s being looked after by a stick up crew from Little Seoul.’

‘Koreans.’ Patricia seemed disgruntled. She shook her head, eyes full of malace squinting at Catarina. Patricia assumed that Cat was following the conversation.

‘Yes, yes. Our friends of Kkangpae. Right. And we know how well you get along with them. Anyways, you’ll need to clear the field before you can safely get into that Kuruma and I need you to do so carefully. That car needs to be in decent condition. Paige will have my balls in a vice if it’s fucked up…’

‘Yeah, yeah, we get it.’ She waved her hand in the air, pushing his worries out of her face. ‘Don’t fuck it up or we’ll suffer pay cuts. Right.’ She crushed the bit of the cigarette left in an ornate ashtray sitting on the counter. She eyed the bowl of cereal in front of her partner. ‘We’ll get dressed and head to Ammu-Nation. There’s one off of Vespucci Boulevard with a gun range for the new kid.’ She winked at Catarina. ‘Not sure if she’s used an assault rifle before. I’ll let you know how she goes.’

Lester ended his call sounding doubtful and worried; he had not been made aware of the lack of experience that Catarina had in this… line of work. It was far more professional than any of Cat’s robberies or attacks which was exciting but mildly terrifying as well.

Patricia lead Cat down two flights of stairs; the house seemed to go on forever, its beauty ceasing to amaze Cat. There was a waterfall built into the wall by the stairwell and Catarina was in shock. This was definitely not a house bought with a stripper’s salary. Fufu’s house is nice, but that’s just about it - this house is unbelievable. This had to be due to her work with Lester and Trevor. _What the fuck._ Then, of course, Patricia does seem to be the more favoured dancer…

At the bottom of the stairs, there was what looked like a small study and a door to another room. Patricia pushed the door open and Catarina’s mind was struggling to take all of it in. A desk filled an entire wall. Across the top of the desk was a radio, the source of the Non-Stop Pop radio station coming through and filling the room. There was a phone and fax machine and a rolodex, some binders that were labelled and full of information (what sort of information Catarina was unsure). There were two computer monitors which were streaming security feeds from cameras all around Patricia’s house and outside around the perimeter of her yard, deck, and garage. There was a laptop at the end of the desk and the webpage for Legendary Motorsport vehicles was open. A car that Catarina could only recognise as Cruella de Vil’s beloved vehicle, a black and red Truffade Z-Type, was looking back at her from the computer screen. The price sat boldly in its place on the screen: $950,000. Holy shit. On the opposite side of the room from the desk was something even more concerning to Catarina. There was an entire closet of bizarre clothing: police and military uniforms and identification with Patricia’s (fake?) info pinned to the chest: made up names and phony identification badges. At least nine bullet-proof vests, and heavy duty cases of…what? Patricia moved to the wall and opened a cabinet, unveiling the most impressive collection of weapons that Catarina had ever laid her eyes on. Actually, it was probably the  _only_ collection of weapons that she had ever laid her eyes on.

‘What the fuck…’ Catarina let out her bemusement, her eyes wide on all of the weaponry. Guns, multiple sets of brass knuckles, a baseball bat _(is that blood?)_ and all sorts of different grenades. There were grenades in this cabinet that Catarina would never have even known existed. She was infatuated.

‘So this,’ Patricia’s fingers ran over the gun in the middle of the case, almost lovingly. ‘This is my favourite. This is what we’re going to get you today.’ She lifted the Special Carbine rifle out of the closet and gripped it. Suddenly, Catarina’s chest tightened with an all-new sense of appreciation for the woman standing in front of her. ‘This is my baby.’ She stated, a small smile tugging at her lips. ‘Have you used a gun before? You seem kind of mentally unstable. And maybe not a citizen. Are you allowed to get a gun?’

Catarina let out a nervous chuckle, shrugging. ‘I’m used to using my knife. I’ve never needed a gun.’

Patricia’s eyebrows raised and Catarina was not sure if it was due to a feeling of being impressed or if she thought Catarina was simply an idiot.

‘Well, insane or not, you’ll get a gun today.’ Patricia moved to the desk and set her gun down, trading it for a binder of information that Lester had left with her the night before.

‘This is from Paige,’ she began, moving to the giant whiteboard in the room. She was removing pictures from the binder and sticking them up on the board with magnets. ‘This is the car we’re picking up today.’ Catarina moved to the whiteboard, standing by Patricia’s side. Catarina was still barefoot, toes wiggling as she focused on the information Patricia was giving out. P was already dressed for the day, her high-heel boots laced tight, causing her to tower over Catarina. The woman was tall enough already; when you add the heels into her height she made Cat look like a child.

‘And this,’ she pulled out another photo and placed it under the picture of the Kuruma. ‘This is the bank we saw this morning.’ Catarina looked at the small brick building they had visited at 4 AM; it seemed unreal, as if it had happened years and years ago. The bank seemed even more pathetic in the daylight. The picture perhaps was not doing it justice. It seemed like such an ordinary structure. She couldn’t wrap her head around what could possibly be inside this place that Lester would want so badly. She was not about to ask questions. Not yet.

‘It’s a two person job, he said, so we won’t need to be hiring anyone. But,’ she moved across the room and picked up a binder that seemed to have profile upon profile of mixed characters. People of all sorts of shapes and sizes were tucked away neatly in here, different ratings and notes filled out for each one. ‘Should we need someone in the future, this is everything we need. People Lester knows that can back our fine asses up so we don’t wake up dead.’

Catarina took the binder and flipped through, reading some of the notes that were written down for people. ‘Drivers, gunmen, and hackers. Are you a driver?’ She had remembered the comment from Patricia the night before, how she always drives. Catarina thought back and decided that if she should ever need to go into some crazy, fucked up heist and have a getaway driver, she would definitely pick Patricia. The woman hardly has to even look at the roads. It seemed like she has been driving the streets of Los Santos since she was six years old.

‘Of course, bitch. You’ve seen me drive.’ Patricia was on her computer, checking her bank account balances through the Maze Bank online banking application. ‘Are you comfortable with that app Lester showed you, yet? You finna be my hacker, baby?’ Catarina felt the weight of the phone in her pocket and she shook her head. ‘Fucking no, but what choice do I have? I can’t drive for shit.’

Patricia laughed a bit at that. ‘I’m sure you can drive fine, I’m just…seasoned.’ She turned around, apparently happy with what her bank accounts had read, and she picked up her rifle. ‘Alright, enough fucking around. Let’s go shopping.’

The Ammu-Nation was right down the road from where they needed to pick up the car and right down the street from Catarina’s apartment. They had driven by and the fumigation was still on-going. _Those fuckin’ cockroaches aren’t going to go down without a fight._

When they approached the shop, the man on the other side administering weapons to the people of Los Santos began to glow, a smile creeping ear to ear as he saw Patricia.

‘P, baby! It’s good to see you! How are you, darlin'?’ Patricia leaned over the counter, kissing the man on the cheek.

‘I’m fine, thanks boo. Look, we need to do some serious business today. My girl here needs the special carbine and we need full ammo.’ The man took a Special Carbine down from the wall and passed it over the counter, dropping it in Catarina’s hands. The feel of the heavy metal; the grooves and rivets felt so good - so right - in her hands. She gripped it tighter, feeling the weight of it.

_Holy fucking shit._

‘Gun range open?’ The guy nodded to the back and Patricia followed as Catarina headed in, trying to load the gun. Patricia watched, helping only when she felt that she needed to step in. She stood behind Cat and watched on in silence, smoking a cigarette. Cat stood in her stall. She processed all of the years she had gone into ‘situations’ wielding her father’s knife. It had worked well and served its purpose. As she stood with an assault rifle propped against her right shoulder, it felt different - different but good. She adjusted herself, her fingers wrapping and hugging the metal. She eyed down the sight and stared ahead, only hearing her breath and feeling nothing but the gun in her hands. The targets lined up and she pulled the trigger.

‘You’re a GUNMAN.’ Patricia was yelling in the car, the palm of her hand hitting the steering wheel with each syllable. ‘ _A fucking gunman!_ ’

Catarina sat in the passenger seat, a small smile on her face as she held the gun in her hands. Nothing has ever felt more right than this. Clipped to her pants were three grenades that she had been allowed to buy for being such a good shot, like a kid who is allowed to get a candy bar for behaving well for Mommy in the store. In her pocket was her father’s switchblade. It would sit this round out, maybe. She was going to try something new today.

They pulled up to the parking garage and parked on the second level. It seemed bizarre that they would be doing this in broad daylight but she decided again not to question the tactics. Patricia turned the Zentorno off, silencing the roar of the engine. She handed Catarina a black balaclava and donned one of her own. She looked threatening and she knew it, waiting for Catarina to put her own mask on. Catarina pulled the mask down over her face and the thrill that she had before came surging back into her fingers. They both adjusted their rifles and applied suppressors to the ends of their guns (Cat having a bit of guidance from Patricia). Catarina gripped her rifle and met her partner’s eyes, matching her stare with the same menacing gaze, a sickening grin creeping onto her face.

‘You ready?’

‘Let’s fuckin’ do this, esé.’

They worked their way up the parking lot to the top level where the Kuruma and the Kkangpae gang were loitering. When they reached the top level, they quickly found a position and crouched behind a car, eyeing down the car from the other side of the lot. ‘Okay, look. I’m going to make my way between cars. I’m not going to shoot unless I absolutely need to. I want you to take them out. I’ll get the car and then we go.’ Catarina didn’t say anything, only nodded once to acknowledge that she understood and agreed with the plan. Then, without another word, P was moving swiftly between cars. She’s like Catwoman, Catarina told herself, smiling in adoration of the woman. She pressed her body tight against the car and poked her head around, eyeing down the men surrounding the car. With a deep breath, she held the gun tighter to her body, fixing it against her shoulder. She eyed the sight, squinted slightly, and exhaled as she pulled the trigger.

The first shot hit two men at once, entering one man’s head and exiting into a man behind him, entering his throat but not exiting. They both dropped to the ground, alerting the others. A frenzy broke out across the roof and the gang members all began to yelling, scrambling to find a spot to hide. Catarina did the same as before, tightening her grip and inhaling, squinting and exhaling, her finger pressing itself against the trigger with force. Another man down. Someone was hiding behind an SUV and his head was just out of shot. His feet and legs, however, were exposed under the car and Catarina took to them with a few bullets, causing the man to cry out in pain. He fell to the cement, his head now where his feet had been, and she put a few bullets into his head as well. For good measure.

Patricia had nearly reached the Kuruma, having had to take out a few men who saw her coming. She snuck up behind one of the men who was feeling confident and safe behind a pickup truck. She smashed the butt of the rifle into his forehead and rendered him unconscious, smiling as she did so. She put the gun to his head and put a bullet through his skull, cracking the pavement beneath him.

Catarina eyed Patricia, moving silently towards the Kuruma and gaining access. Just before she tucked herself in, a man came up from behind the cement wall on the other side of the parking lot. Catarina jumped out from behind the car and fired, hitting the man in the chest and causing Patricia to send a look towards her that was both endearing and pissed off. She turned and finished him off, then singled to Catarina to get in the car.

‘You know,’ P had started, her tone aggravated but strangely pleased. Catarina was buckling her seatbelt and placing her gun between her feet, aiming away from her face. ‘You just got that thing not even a few hours ago. You could have killed me just then with a stray fucking bullet.’

Catarina pulled her mask off, rubbing her head lightly. She looked to Mama P, stoic, eyebrow raised. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘Tchh, a gunman. A gunman with an attitude no fucking less.’ Patricia said again, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe it. That was some beautiful shooting. You're sure you’ve never had a gun before?’ She was looking at her questioningly, knowing that Catarina did not necessarily owe her any honesty. Patricia was nothing to her at this point, really. Could they even be considered partners yet? Besides, it wasn’t like she had really pushed too much to know the girl’s history. She could be a paintball professional or something, who the fuck even knows? ‘Like, not even a paintball gun?’

Catarina shook her head, but then hesitated. ‘I had a Nerf gun when I was little,’ she said, remembering the shootouts she used to have with her brother. ‘Yeah, I was pretty good with that. I always shot it at the television - if my parents were watching a movie or something - and could usually hit my mark..’ She thought back to her childhood in Albuquerque before everything changed. Her parents would be curled up on the couch, sometimes Franco would be on the floor at their feet or in his chair reading. Cat would creep through the house and aim at one of the character’s on the screen, waiting to make her final shot. Before anyone could realise, there was a foam Nerf dart stuck to someone’s face on screen. She used up the adrenalin that she had left to push the memories out of her head.

‘Your headshots though,’ P continued. ‘ _Goddamnit!_ I can’t believe it. You got two-in-one in those first couple of shots!’

Cat remembered the shot. It was the first she made. She swelled with pride and assumed that this is what it must feel like to have an older sibling praising you for winning a spelling bee or a sports tournament. Great work out there, Cat! You are the MVP! It was a nice feeling. ‘Yeah, that was pretty fuckin’ cool, right?’

As they drove up the highway, three black Cheval Fugitives peeled out behind them out of nowhere. Patricia eyed them in the rear and cursed under her breath.

‘Fuck, I knew that was too easy.’ Patricia’s hand reached back into her bag and pulled out a mini semi-automatic machine gun. She held it up to Catarina. ‘Can you shoot if I keep the car steady enough?’

Catarina breathed in, taking the gun without hesitating, exhaled, and nodded. ‘Yeah, just drive.’

The cars were behind them and beside them, full of very pissed off Koreans who wanted their Kuruma back. The gang was shooting crazily at the car, attempting and failing to hit their target. Catarina rolled down her window and stuck her arm out of the small space that she had to work with between the armoured sections of the car. Holding the mini machine gun with tenacity, she squinted her eyes on her targets.

‘Slow down just a bit,’ she said and Patricia did as she was told. When one of the cars was close enough. Catarina took the shot and missed a few times, but then successfully hit both the driver and passenger. Patricia’s foot pressed the accelerator as the car to their right hurled itself out of control, the driver’s face smashing against the horn before driving off of the road and into the trees. Catarina turned around, facing the back, blinking as bullets littered the armor of the car. The vulnerability window was small, here, and Catarina was not surprised that these angry men couldn’t hit either of the women in the Kuruma. When Catarina shot out the back window to give herself a better chance of hitting their assailants, Patricia could already hear Lester’s cryies and complaints ringing through her head.

Even with the assistance from Catarina shooting out the window, the Kkangpae couldn’t land a solid shot. Their bullets continued to riddle the armor around the car and Catarina squinted, eyeing the people that were left. There were three in the car to the left and only two on the right. She took out the driver in the car on the right, leaving the passenger to deal with the wreck. The car swerved out of control and into the opposite lanes of oncoming traffic. Miraculously, no other cars hit and they sped full on into the median on the other side of the highway.

The remaining car, three angry men firing blindly and driving poorly, continued to chase after them. Catarina advised Patricia to put her breaks on and P once again did as she was instructed. The car swerved and drove past them, allowing Patricia to speed up, driving ahead to close the gap between the two cars. Catarina held her arm out her side window again and fired three bursts of bullets. One hit the rearview mirror of the car and freaked the driver out slightly, causing the car to jerk to the left, nearly crashing into another car. The second and third round of shots successfully ended the driver and passengers. The car swerved to the side and went off road and down a hill out of sight.

Catarina pulled her arm back in and placed the mini machine gun in the bag that Patricia had in the back. P was silent for a moment, staring at this bald girl sitting next to her. ‘You crazy, crazy bitch.’ Catarina watched as a smile (was she proud?) crept onto her face. Patricia threw the Kuruma into next gear, speeding off towards the old clothing factory.

They parked the fully-armored Kuruma under the bridge at the factory. Cat stepped out, looking around and taking the scenery in. The windows were boarded up, mostly, and the parking lot was abandoned. Civilians of Los Santos were driving past the building, driving over the bridge, and paying no attention to Patricia and Cat or the heavily armoured vehicle that they had just stolen and driven here from across the city. Across the top of the building were decrepit, decaying letters: DARNELL BROTHERS. The 'DB' on Lester's keyring.

A woman burst through the doors of the factory and welcomed them when they arrived. She snatched the keys from Patricia and offered each of them a thumbs up in return.

Paige Harris was not a remarkably attractive woman, although people could agree that she wasn’t the worst looking gal in Los Santos, either. Her hair was plain, mousey brown and tied back into a low pony tail. She didn’t care to wear makeup and she sure as shit didn’t try to impress anyone. She dressed comfortably, she said, ‘because fuck you’. She wore clothes that did not flatter her or look becoming on her whatsoever and everybody was sure that Paige did not give two shits about any of that. She was positively unremarkable and boring-looking, standing in front of Catarina and Patricia now with her black skull t-shirt and slightly baggy jeans. Her clothes were just sitting on her body. Catarina looked to Patricia whose clothes clung to her, melted and fitted her form. P’s clothes demanded attention. And Paige, well, that was just not the case with her. She was unremarkable, she was boring, and she looked as though she dressed shrouded by darkness in someone’s closet full of old clothes from 2006. None of this mattered because she was, as Lester put it, ‘the best fucking hacker you will ever meet’. Patricia admitted that she thought maybe at first that Lester was saying this just because he wanted his dick sucked by Harris, but through working with Paige she realised it was true and Patricia had developed sincere appreciation for Paige _(‘even if she does dress like she wants to be put in a trash bin’)_. Catarina didn’t care what the woman looked like, how many hideous shirts she picked up from Suburban or how good she was at hacking or driving or sucking dick. All that Catarina could think about right now was the gun strapped to her body right now, the feel of the metal cold against her skin.

‘Lester is giving me your details, I’ll transfer you the money. The Granger here is full of everything that you’ll need for the heist. Patricia, I think that’s for your place. Ask Lester. Anyways, thanks girls, we’ll be in touch for Fleeca.’ And she was off.

‘That woman, honestly’ Patricia began, walking to the factory doors. ‘I wish she would do something with herself.’ Catarina didn’t comment, only followed Patricia as they walked through the doors and up the stairs to meet a very pleased and anxious Lester Crest.

‘Was the car okay? Any scratches? Busted lights?’

‘It was fine.’

‘Any dents or -‘

‘Lester? Quit bitching.’

‘Right, well… You better hope I don’t lose my balls. I don’t know why I even bother with women.’ He mumbled under his breath, going over all of the information on the Fleeca job. ‘Well, we’ve gone through the steps too many times to count now. Cat, the hacking.. that’s important. Without a successful hack, the vault will not open. The job will fail. This will all have been for nothing.’

Patricia dug her elbow into Catarina’s ribs playfully. ‘No pressure, _Cat._ ’

Catarina eyed Lester. ‘I’ll be able to do it.’ She was nervous, truthfully, and worried that she actually would not be able to do it. However, she had no other options and she was not about to bail. So, rather than cause Lester to get his panties in a bunch, she asserted herself and told him ‘to worry about his own shit.’

‘Alright Lester, I’ll keep you updated but we have to hit the road. We only have a few hours to do this and as fun as it is sitting in this shithole,’ Patricia gestured to the old, rundown clothing factory that was Lester’s workplace. ‘And talking to you, us gals have work to do.’ She put her hand on Catarina’s shoulder and turned to face her full on. ‘Are you ready?’ Catarina said nothing, only nodded once. _Ready as she’ll ever be._

‘Hey, P?’ Lester’s voice came at them as they were heading down the stairs towards the doors of the factory.

‘Yes, Mr Crest?’ Her tone mocking him.

‘Use the money from Paige to pick up some outfits before you hit up the bank. Cat needs to cover up those tattoos. If this fails, we don’t need any _easily identifying characteristics_.’

Patricia looked Catarina up and down, realising now just how tattooed she was.

‘Mm, right. Girl, you look like you’ve just been released from prison, you know that, right?’

 

Catarina had never shopped at Ponsonby’s in her life. Sure, she had robbed more than a handful of them so that she could pay rent; she had paraded in, zip-tied the doors closed, screamed at all the shoppers. She had thrusted her knife into the clerk’s face, demanded the registers and safe are emptied into a backpack. She had made off with a decent pay off more than one time from more than one shop. Now here she was, actually purchasing clothing from Ponsonby’s. A fitted suit, no fucking less. To wear. The whole situation was something entirely foreign to her. The price tags on all of the clothes, even the accessories, ranged far above what she could afford. Ponsonby’s was a shop for the elite, for the rich, white folk of Los Santos: not the poor Mexican-Native American girl with $67 to her name.

Patricia pushed through the glass doors as her heels clicked their way into the store. Contrary to Cat, Patricia looked like she belonged in the store, as if she were a model for Ponsonby’s stores all across San Andreas. As Cat followed behind her partner, a woman working behind the counter let out a startled whimper.

‘Ooh! Um, g-good afternoon…’ She recognised Patricia and offered a welcoming smile with warm and friendly eyes. She avoided addressing Cat altogether. ‘How can I help you today, miss? Putting another order in for a suit?’

‘Yes, Mary, thank you. We need to measure the bitch.’ She turned to Cat. ‘Your crazy-ass bald head will suit a suit.’ Patricia smirked.

Inside a dressing room, Cat was alone for the first time all night. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her body was riddled with bruises, cuts and scars from the past. Her fingers grazed over a deep scar across her side; she had been escaping an attack and jumped a fence, catching on barbed wire, hooking her skin. Bits of shirt and flesh had been left behind, hanging from the fence, and she walked away with a handful of home-made stitches. The skin had lost feeling around the scar.

She sized herself up in the mirror, trying to make sense of her beaten and battered body inside of the store's dressing room. Interrupting her thoughts, Patricia flung a grey suit over the door of the dressing room.

‘Put this on, and this, and I’ll go get you a nice tie.’ Then disappeared into the store again. Cat plucked the suit from its hanger. She couldn’t spend anymore of her energy trying to process what was going on. Her white shirt, splattered with a bit of someone else’s blood, was lying on the floor clumped next to her cargo pants. She stood staring at herself in sports bra and underwear holding a $2500 suit from Ponsonby’s. _What the fuck was happening?_ Just yesterday she had been sipping drinks with Fufu, Juliet, and Chastity, enjoying the promise of a nice, homemade breakfast with friends. Now she could barely recognise herself as she looked back in the mirror. _What the actual_ fuck _was happening?_

She stepped out of the dressing room, nervous as all hell, suited up head to toe. Patricia ooh’d and aah’d.

‘You got a nice ass in those pants, henny,’ she said, ‘now put this on.’ She wrapped a bowtie around Catarina’s neck, tying it up loosely. ‘Are you a dancer?’

 _A dancer…? Oh, right. Vanilla Unicorn. A young lady spending all of her time at a strip club. Would only mean one of a few things_.

‘No. I stay in the dressing room some nights.’

‘Why? To get head?’

‘Not quite.’ Catarina stepped back, shaking her head and trying not to laugh too loudly; she didn't want to scare Marie. She enjoyed the way that Patricia’s mind processed information, however bizarre it was.

She looked again at herself in the reflection, admiring the bowtie that Patricia had picked out.

‘When I was younger, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. A whole bunch of fucked up shit happened. But, the ladies there - well, some of them - they took me in. So it’s kind of like a home to me. Most of the ladies are like family. And, well, Trevor is like… the fucked up uncle.’ She said it lovingly. A twirl in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, then she nodded to Patricia. ‘I look fancy.’

‘Yeah, but that hair…’ she clicked her tongue. ‘I wish you’d grow it out. It’s just so ugly.’

‘Sorry, P, but I can’t do that,’ she said, laughing again at Patricia's comments. ‘This works for me. Gets me out of sticky shit.’ She paused, debated with herself, and continued. ‘I had hair once. Went down to the middle of my back. I got caught by a cop during my “grand getaway”. He had pulled my hair back, had a fistful of it. It didn’t end well for either of us.' She exhaled dramatically. 'So this...’ she put her hand on her head, rubbing the soft fuzz that was sprouting up from her scalp. ‘This works. Plus, there’s always hats.’

‘Wigs, honey, _you need wigs._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this with friends and it's currently sitting close to 84,000 words. I'll be uploading chapter by chapter.


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